RED  HORSE  HILL 


SIDNEY  MCCALL 


BELONGS  To 

D«4hl« 


RED  HORSE  HILL 


RED   HORSE   HILL 


BY 
SIDNEY  McCALL 

Author  of  "  Truth  Dexter,"  "  The  Breath  of  the  Gods," 
"  The  Dragon  Painter,"  etc. 


Copyright,  1909, 
BY  LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY. 


All  rights  reserved 


Published  May,  1909 


ELECTBOTYPED  AND  PRINTED  AT 
THE  COLONIAL  PRESS: 
C.  H.  SIMONDS  &  Co.,  BOSTON,  U.S.A. 


To  the  memory  of  my  beloved 


2229166 


CONTENTS 


I.  MARRIED  LOVERS        .......  1 

II.  A  FORENOON  CALL 16 

III.  THE  DEVIL'S  QUADRILLE 33 

IV.  RUTH  ARRIVES 47 

V.  THE  FLOWERS  THAT  WERE  NOT  GATHERED  59 

VI.  A  MINOR  CRISIS 82 

VII.  AN  APPARITION  FROM  THE  PAST    ...  95 

VIII.  MARIS  UNDERSTANDS 109 

IX.  NIGHT  UPON  RED  HORSE  HILL      .       .       .  123 

X.  THE  LAUGHING  OWL      2 138 

XI.  THE  LONG  GREEN  VEIL 152 

XII.  A  TRAFFICKER  IN  SOULS          ....  172 

XIII.  WHAT  PITY  WAS  AKIN  To      .       .       .       .189 

XIV.  IN  WHICH  THE  CONGREGATION  LISTENS       .  209 
XV.  RUTH  INTERCEDES 224 

XVI.  LISSHY  FINDS  A  WAY 247 

XVII.  A  MORE  SUCCESSFUL  BARGAIN       .       .       .  264 

XVIII.  A  MESSAGE 285 

XIX.  THE  CONFLICT 306 

XX.  MARIS  RETURNS  TO  ORBURY    .       .       .       .319 

XXI.  Two  CALLERS '334 

XXII.  ON  SUNSHINE  HILL  352 


RED  HORSE  HILL 


CHAPTER  ONE 

MAERIED   LOVERS 

"  I  AM  expected  to  believe  that  this  is  March?  " 
asked  the  man,  affecting  incredulity. 

"  And  only  the  first  day  of  it! "  she  cried,  in  tri- 
umph. 

He  took  his  eyes,  with  pardonable  reluctance,  from 
his  wife's  laughing,  upturned  face,  and  gazed  out 
on  the  world  again,  a  world  soaked  up  with  yellow 
sunshine,  caught  under  an  inverted  bowl  of  blue 
glaze.  "  Except  for  your  assurance  and  the  date  on 
the  morning  paper,  I  would  believe  it  to  be  May,"  he 
told  her. 

"  Oh,  there  is  no  real  sunshine  anywhere  in  America 
except  here,  in  my  South,"  she  vaunted.  One  would 
have  thought  from  her  manner  that  the  credit  of 
the  perfect  morning  lay  entirely  at  her  door.  She 
leaned  her  dark  head  against  him,  speaking  in  a  lower 
tone.  "  These  are  the  days  that  one  remembers,  — 
these  little,  herald  days  of  spring,  that  run  out  from 
under  the  coop,  as  it  were,  while  old  prisoned  winter 
clucks  and  frets.  They  are  the  dearest  ones  of  all." 

"  If  this  is  a  sample  of  the  flock,"  said  he,  "  I 
readily  believe  it." 


2  RED  HORSE  HILL 

"  That's  just  the  trouble,"  she  laughed.  "  It  is 
only  a  sample.  In  a  little  while  the  March  winds 
will  wake  up,  and  rattle  our  doors  and  windows,  and 
blow  red  dust  about  the  streets,  making  us  forget 
the  darling  days  that  went  astray.  Yet,  even  at  that, 
think  of  Broadway  as  it  is  this  minute,  —  all  those 
side  streets  piled  with  snow  and  mud.  Ugh!"  she 
shuddered. 

Her  husband  smiled.  "  New  York  is  New  York. 
There's  only  one.  I  wonder  whether  I  shall  ever 
get  used  to  spending  the  winters  away  from  it." 

"  I  wonder  too,"  she  echoed,  a  little  sadly.  Then, 
after  an  imperceptible  hesitation,  added,  "  I  feared 
you  never  would.  That  was  why  I  opposed  our  com- 
ing here." 

She  stared  out  again,  straight  into  the  sunshine. 

"  It  is  certain  that  you  opposed  it  vehemently,"  he 
responded,  after  a  brief  interval  of  silence  which, 
for  some  indefinable  reason  was  not  altogether  tran- 
quil. "  It  was  one  of  the  surprises  of  my  life.  And 
now  that  I  have  seen  you  in  the  South,  and  realize 
how  homesick  you  must  have  been,  I  wonder  even 
more." 

She  stirred  restlessly.  "  It's  that  wretched  busi- 
ness of  mill  management,"  she  said.  "  You  know 
you  hated  to  come,  and  I  think  it  was  horrid  of  your 
partners  to  force  you  into  coming!  " 

Dwight  Alden  frowned.  "  There's  no  use  going 
over  all  that  again.  No  one  else  could  come  or  I 
should  have  held  out  longer."  He  glanced  down 
at  her  averted  face  with  something  like  curiosity. 
"  Perhaps  the  most  surprising  shock  of  the  whole 
business  was  in  finding  how  set  you  were  against 
returning  to  your  own  part  of  the  country." 

"  I  told  you  it  was  because  I  knew  you  wouldn't 
like  it,"  she  repeated,  a  little  defiantly.  Plainly  the 


MARRIED  LOVERS  3 

topic  was  one  that  distressed  her.  She  moved  a  few 
inches  farther  and  began  to  toy  nervously  with  the 
draperies  at  the  window.  The  next  words  came  more 
as  if  she  feared  a  protracted  silence,  than  from  any 
definite  necessity  of  speaking.  "  I  have  given  you 
often  the  only  personal  reasons  I  had;  my  relatives 
are  dead,  the  friends  of  my  childhood  changed.  It 
is  sadder  to  come  back  than  to  remain  away  when 
such  things  have  happened." 

"  If  you  had  been  born  in  this  State  I  could  under- 
stand it  better,  but  North  Carolina,  —  two  hundred 
miles  from  here  —  " 

"  The  people  of  the  old  South  are  like  one  big 
family.  Everybody  knows  everybody." 

"  But  why  shouldn't  they?  "  he  was  beginning, 
logically  enough,  when  her  impatient  exclamation 
checked  him.  For  an  instant  longer  he  bent  on  her 
the  puzzled  gaze,  noting  her  pallor,  the  quickness 
of  her  breathing,  and  the  nervous  fluttering  of  her 
hands.  He  was  not  satisfied;  nothing  she  had  since 
alleged  for  her  sudden,  passionate  protest  against 
taking  up  residence  in  the  South  had  satisfied  him, 
but  now,  because  she  was  troubled,  and  because  he 
dearly  loved  her,  he  deliberately  drove  the  un- 
pleasant subject  from  his  mind.  Even  before  he 
reached  out  his  arm  to  draw  her  close,  she  had  felt 
the  change  and  welcomed  it  with  a  deep  drawn  sigh 
of  relief. 

He  was  a  tall  man,  sparely  built,  with  broad  shoul- 
ders. Beside  him  she  seemed  a  girl  in  slenderness  and 
height.  He  had  the  peculiar  air  of  "  correctness," 
the  quick  decision  of  glance  and  of  motion  which 
characterize  the  well-born  business  man  of  the  North. 
Outwardly,  at  least,  the  husband  and  wife  possessed 
every  requisite  for  comfort  and  happiness.  Both 
were  young  and  good  to  look  at.  Now,  after  three 


4  RED  HORSE  HILL 

years  of  married  life,  they  were  more  deeply  in  love 
than  at  the  beginning.  Also  the  house  in  which  they 
stood,  with  its  long  rooms,  rich  furniture  and  elaborate 
stables,  spoke  loudly,  perhaps  a  little  too  loudly,  of 
wealth. 

And  it  was  just  this  house,  with  its  brief  and 
tragic  history,  centering  about  the  sudden  death 
of  its  owner  and  builder  a  few  weeks  earlier  in  the 
year,  that  was  bringing  the  first  small  shadow  of 
mistrust  between  Dwight  Alden  and  Maris,  his  wife. 

Mr.  Geoffry  Brattle,  the  late  owner,  had  been 
senior  partner  of  the  New  York  firm  of  Brattle,  King, 
and  Alden.  To  go  a  little  deeper  into  antecedents, 
his  father,  one  Jonathan  Brattle  of  Connecticut,  and 
the  millionaire  proprietor  of  several  cotton  mills,  had 
been  among  the  first  of  those  astute  old  pioneers  to 
see  the  advantage  of  manufacturing  the  staple,  with 
cheaper  labor,  in  the  locality  where  it  grew.  His 
Southern  mill,  called  "  The  Regina,"  at  first  a  private 
affair,  had  been,  on  its  inheritance  by  the  son  Geoffry, 
incorporated  into  a  stock  company  in  which,  of  course, 
the  firm  of  Brattle,  King  and  Alden  held  the  control- 
ling interest. 

The  running  of  this  mill  and  the  constant  increase 
of  its  percentages  gradually  became  to  Geoffry 
Brattle,  as  they  had  been  to  his  father,  the  most 
engrossing  factors  in  his  material  life.  A  certain 
weakness  of  the  throat,  deepening  toward  middle 
age,  gave  excellent  reason  for  the  changing  of  his 
residence  from  New  York,  to  a  milder  climate.  To 
this  somewhat  radical  move  his  wife,  inspired  by 
her  fears  for  his  health,  immediately  assented.  If 
the  three  Misses  Brattle,  each  unmarried,  and  beyond 
the  age  of  thirty,  ventured  to  remonstrate,  their 
expostulations  bore  no  fruit.  Once  in  the  South, 
their  interest  in  the  building  of  a  palatial  new  home 


MARRIED  LOVERS  5 

blotted  out  dissatisfaction.  "  The  Regina,"  as  Mr. 
Brattle  had  observed,  was  the  oldest  and  the  biggest 
mill  in  Sidon;  and  its  President's  home,  if  not  the 
oldest,  should  at  least  be  the  most  imposing  in  the 
community. 

The  so-called  "  classic "  style  had  been  chosen 
for  its  dominant  note.  The  mansion  faced  to  the 
south,  and  its  four  splendid  monoliths,  chipped  from 
a  native  quarry,  spanned  the  width  of  the  brick 
fagade.  It  stood  on  the  apex  of  a  low,  trailing  hill, 
and  the  unfinished  garden  was  bounded,  some  thirty 
yards  away,  by  an  openwork  iron  fence  and  gateway. 
Outside  the  fence,  after  a  dozen  level  yards  at  either 
hand,  the  red  clay  road  went  down  to  east  and  west, 
and  the  gray,  cemented  bands  of  narrow  pavement 
followed  the  falling  curves. 

With  the  ardor  of  a  boy  had  Mr.  Geoffry  Brattle 
thrown  himself  into  the  pleasant  task  of  furnishing 
and  decorating  his  new  home.  The  hardwood  floors, 
selected  in  the  North,  the  wall-papers  and  hangings 
imported  direct  from  England,  the  placing  of  splendid 
colonial  furniture,  much  of  it  already  in  the  possession 
of  the  Brattle  family,  these  details,  and  others,  drew 
him  away,  for  the  first  time,  from  active  interest 
in  his  mill.  Complaints  were  brought  in  to  him  only 
to  be  waved  aside.  "  My  superintendent,  McGhee, 
will  attend  to  it,"  was  his  invariable  reply.  So 
"  Buck  "  McGhee,  the  hardest  and  most  successful 
"  mill  boss  "  in  the  county,  attended  to  things  hi 
his  own  way,  while  Mr.  Brattle  talked  for  long  hours 
together  with  his  landscape  architect,  a  promising 
young  graduate  from  the  Massachusetts  "  Tech,"  and 
forgot  that,  in  his  mill,  human  life  as  well  as  steel 
machinery,  sometimes  gets  out  of  repair. 

And  then  (for  such  things  are  allowed  to  happen) 
scarcely  had  the  last  picture  been  hung  in  place,  and 


6  BED  HORSE  HELL 

the  door-mats  been  laid  symmetrically  before  the  two 
great  panels  of  cut  glass,  when  Mr,,  Brattle  took  a 
severe  cold,  probably  from  walking  too  long  on  his 
unfinished  pathways,  and,  in  three  days,  was  dead. 

The  news  of  this  calamity  brought,  as  might  have 
been  expected,  a  manifold  consternation  to  the 
New  York  office.  For  months  the  earnings  of  the 
mill  had  been  falling  behind.  Something  must  be 
done  immediately.  As  a  result  of  the  hasty  first 
meeting  of  shareholders,  it  was  voted  that  one  of 
their  number  must  take  charge  at  once.  The  second 
partner,  King,  had  even  more  complicated  affairs 
to  settle  in  the  North.  There  was  no  one  to  go  but 
the  junior  partner,  Alden.  He  opposed  it  vigorously, 
but  his  clear  judgment  had  seen,  from  the  first,  the 
inevitability  of  the  move.  And  as  if  to  dispel  his 
last  objection  the  heart-broken  Mrs.  Brattle  wrote 
urging  upon  him  and  his  wife  the  possession  of  the 
splendid  home,  just  completed.  "  Live  in  it  as  long 
as  you  will,"  she  had  said.  "  I  never  want  to  see 
the  place  again." 

So,  less  than  three  weeks  ago,  the  Aldens  had  come, 
each  under  protest  to  a  compelling  fate,  each  filled 
with  vague  forebodings  that  lurked  as  a  mist  in  the 
corners  of  the  great  house  by  day,  and  stirred  at 
nightfall  with  a  keener  chill. 

"  Yo'  mornin's  mail,  Sir,"  said  the  voice  of  Archer, 
the  young  negro  butler,  just  behind  them.  Maris 
gave  a  little  start  of  alarm,  then  drew  away  from  her 
husband,  while  Alden  took  the  letters,  shuffling  them 
hastily,  like  a  deck  of  cards.  "  You  can  go,  Archer," 
he  said,  "  and  next  time  you  had  better  knock  before 
entering." 

"  Yas,  Sir,"  said  Archer,  meekly.  "  I  did  knock  on. 
dem  do'-curtains,  Sir,  but  dey  wouldn't  knock." 


MARRIED  LOVERS  7 

He  turned  away,  still  grave,  but  as  he  went  down  the 
room  Maris  caught  the  gleam  of  white  teeth  reflected 
in  a  mirror  at  the  farther  end. 

Alden  continued  to  frown  over  his  letters.  "  All 
business  ones,  and  all  troublesome,  of  course,"  he 
had  begun  to  murmur,  when  suddenly  his  face 
changed.  "Hullo!  Here's  one  from  Wellesley.  That 
means  Ruth.  Wonder  what  she  wants  now!"  He 
opened  it  quickly,  and,  as  he  read,  his  lips  formed 
themselves  into  a  soundless  whistle. 

"  What  is  it?  Does  she  say  she  is  coming  to  the 
South?  "  cried  Maris,  instantly  alert  with  an  uneasy 
curiosity. 

Dwight  smiled  at  her  over  the  letter.  "  You  witch. 
Now  how  did  you  guess  that?  It  is  the  last  thing  I 
should  have  thought  of  Ruth's  doing.  But  read  for 
yourself." 

Maris  took  the  missive.  She  knew  that  Dwight 
watched  her  as  she  read,  and  determined  to  let  no 
word  or  look  of  annoyance  escape  her.  In  her  heart 
she  could  have  wished  that  her  young  sister-in-law, 
hitherto  so  chary  of  her  visits,  had  waited  until 
affairs  were  a  little  more  settled  in  the  new  Southern 
home. 

Ruth,  though  still  little  more  than  a  girl  hi  years, 
was  instructor  in  Sociology  at  Wellesley.  Her  life 
and  intellect,  she  let  it  be  understood,  were  dedicated 
to  the  betterment  of  her  fellow-beings.  The  steady 
growth  of  interest  at  the  North  in  all  such  problems 
of  social  science,  particularly  in  that  of  Child  Labor, 
had  taken  form,  at  Wellesley,  in  the  organization 
of  a  Committee  of  Inquiry  and  Inspection.  Ruth 
had  been,  from  the  first,  an  ardent  member  of  this 
association.  When  her  brother  was  transferred  so 
suddenly  to  the  South  and  given  charge  of  one  of 
the  oldest  and  most  important  mills  in  that  part  of 


8  RED  HORSE  HILL 

the  world,  it  naturally  occurred  to  Ruth  that  here 
was  a  marvellous  opportunity  for  studying  condi- 
tions at  first  hand.  In  writing,  she  did  not  ask  her 
brother's  permission  to  come,  or  even  hint  that  she 
desired  his  approval;  she  merely  stated  that  she  had 
applied  for  and  received  a  two  months'  leave  of  ab- 
sence, and  would  probably  arrive  some  time  during 
the  following  week.  Almost  as  an  after-thought,  she 
had  added:  "  I  trust  that  this  will  not  inconvenience 
you  and  Maris,  and  that  you  can  find  room  for  me 
in  your  big  house." 

"  We  can  certainly  find  room,  if  that  is  what  she 
wants,"  said  Maris,  handing  the  letter  back.  She 
tried  to  laugh  naturally,  but  her  voice,  in  spite  of 
effort,  sounded  a  little  rueful. 

Dwight  made  no  reply  to  this.  After  a  moment 
more  of  silence  he  turned  from  the  window,  saying, 
"  It's  a  bit  cold  here,  even  with  the  sash  down.  Let 
us  go  over  to  the  fire." 

She  slipped  her  arm  in  his  and  they  made  their 
way,  thus,  across  the  wide  luxurious  room  until  they 
reached  the  fire-place  where,  with  a  sigh  of  well-being, 
he  sank  into  a  cushioned  seat  and  stretched  his  long 
legs  out  toward  the  blaze.  Andirons  of  brass  held 
back  the  hickory  logs.  The  wood  burned  slowly,  its 
charred  sides  marked  off  into  luminous  dice  of  coals. 
Now  and  again  a  small  blue  flame  peered  out,  glanced 
hurriedly  to  right  and  left,  reached  up  its  hands 
to  climb  the  imprisoning  log,  gained  the  glowing 
parapet  and,  like  an  elemental  sprite,  ran  the  full 
length  of  it,  only  to  vanish,  sprite-like,  into  the  cavern 
of  darkness  beyond. 

Maris  took  her  favorite  seat  on  the  arm  of  her 
husband's  chair,  leaning  against  him  until  her  cheek 
pressed  close  against  his  forehead.  So,  for  a  long, 
contented  interval  they  sat  in  the  silence  which  is 


MARRIED  LOVERS  9 

the  ultimate  gift  alike  of  friendship  and  of  love.  When 
next  the  wife  spoke  it  was  of  their  present  home  and 
their  coming  life  in  it.  "  Do  you  know,  Dwight,  this 
is  the  very  first  day  that  this  huge,  expensive  castle 
has  had  to  me  the  least  tiny  hint  of  a  home.  And  I 
have  worked  hard  for  it  all  through  the  week,  hunting 
up  flowers,  and  less  pretentious  vases,  making  Archer 
find  a  place  where  we  could  get  these  hickory  logs, 
and  a  dozen  other  things  that  you  don't  notice  now 
they  are  here,  but  which  I  think  you  would  miss  if 
they  were  taken  away."  She  looked  about  the 
pleasant  room,  but  her  husband  looked  only  at  her. 

"  There  is  only  one  thing  in  the  room  I  would  miss 
very,  very  much,"  Jie  told  her. 

"  Oh,  all  this  long,  tiresome  week  I  have  been  look- 
ing forward  to  this  day,"  she  answered,  almost  with 
passion,  as  she  returned  his  caresses.  "  All  the  week 
I  have  been  whispering  to  myself,  '  Sunday  is  coming. 
He  won't  be  going  to  that  horrid  mill.  He's  to  be 
mine,  all  day,  —  all  day ! '  A  plaintive  note  came 
into  her  voice.  "  I  didn't  dream,  then,  that  it  would 
be  our  last  Sunday  together  for  so  many  weeks." 

Mr.  Alden's  sigh  answered  her  own.  "  I  can't 
help  wishing  that  Ruth  had  waited  a  little  longer. 
It  would  have  been  more  considerate." 

"  But  your  reason,"  began  Maris  with  the  demure- 
ness  that  always  hid  a  spice  of  mischief,  "  is  only  be- 
cause you  are  not  ready  yet  to  turn  her  theories  loose 
hi  your  mill." 

"  Not  altogether  that,"  he  said.  "  Her  theories 
can  well  cut  their  teeth  on  the  problems  of  other  mills 
in  the  vicinity.  There  are  plenty  of  others." 

"  What  is  it  then?  "  she  whispered.  "  Why  is  it 
that  you  don't  want  her  to  come  so  soon?  "  Her 
cheek  was  on  his  again,  her  arms  were  wound  tightly 
around  his  throat.  Suddenly  he  drew  her  down  and 


10  RED  HORSE  HILL 

covered  her  face  with  kisses.  "  You  know  the  reason 
well  enough,  you  little  rogue.  Don't  you  ever  get 
tired  of  hearing  me  say  it?  " 

"  No,  —  I  have  never  heard  it  before,  —  say  it, — 
say  it  —  quick!  " 

"  I'm  such  a  fool,  then,  about  this  wife  of  mine,  I 
don't  want  any  one  else  butting  in,  —  not  even  a 
sister.  I  think  I'd  like  to  rent  a  desert  island,  just 
for  that  wife  and  me,  —  if  —  "  He  paused,  smiling. 

"  Yes  —  yes,"  she  urged  him,  hungrily. 

"  If  we  could  rely  upon  certain  necessities,  —  open- 
plumbing,  for  instance,  and  a  cook." 

Maris  sprang  to  her  feet  and  faced  him  with  flashing 
eyes.  "  That's  not  love!  "  she  cried.  "  That's  only 
a  heightening  of  personal  comfort  into  pleasure.  Real 
love  would  scorn  the  plumbers,  and  the  cooks,  and 
all  the  machinery  of  life.  For  you,  —  for  you," 
she  said  in  her  low,  passionate  voice,  "  I'd  leave  this 
great  house  this  instant,  not  knowing  or  caring 
whether  I  should  ever  eat,  or  sleep,  or  be  warm  again. 
Because  you  asked  it,  I'd  follow  you  on  foot;  and 
when  I  couldn't  walk,  I'd  crawl,  and  when  I  wasn't 
able  to  crawl,  -  '  here  she  stopped  and  gave  an 
hysterical  little  laugh  at  the  thought  of  the  image 
about  to  be  invoked,  — "  when  I  couldn't  crawl, 
—  I'd  lie  down  flat  and  —  wriggle !  " 

11  Fortunately  for  us  both  I  shall  not  ask  it,"  he 
said,  a  little  drily.  He  never  felt  at  ease  before  these 
infrequent  outbursts  of  his  wife,  even  when,  as  now, 
they  stirred  him.  He  reached  out  to  draw  her  back, 
but  evading  his  touch,  she  threw  herself  to  her  knees 
upon  the  hearth-rug,  caught  up  the  brass  poker,  and 
began  to  make  vicious  thrusts  into  the  astonished 
fire.  The  hiss  and  crackle  of  the  angry  sparks  ap- 
peased her. 

"  There  now!  "  she  cried.    "  The  fire  has  done  the 


MARRIED  LOVERS  11 

sputtering  for  me.  I'm  better."  She  put  the  poker 
back  deliberately,  folded  her  hands  in  her  lap,  and 
sat,  like  a  child,  staring  into  the  new  rush  of  flame. 
He  leaned  over  to  see  her  the  better;  his  face,  un- 
guarded, showed  his  delight  in  her  elfin  ways. 

"  What  a  kid  you  are  yet,  Maris,"  he  laughed. 

She  shrugged  and  moved  a  little  farther.  In  the 
new  attitude  her  profile  was  cut,  like  a  cameo,  against 
the  sooty  background  of  the  wide  fireplace.  It  was  a 
delicate,  irregular  outline,  gaining  its  greatest  charm 
from  the  sensitiveness  of  nostril  and  the  unusual  tilt 
of  the  short  upper  lip  which  seemed  always  about  to 
tremble  into  a  smile,  or  to  break  into  eager  speech. 
Sometimes  an  unspeakable  pathos  touched  it. 

But  this  look  was  far  from  it  now.  It  was  a  spirited, 
defiant  little  profile  thrown  upward  to  his  gaze.  He 
watched  her  steadily,  his  eyes  sparkling.  He  knew 
that,  before  many  moments,  she  must  turn  to  him, 
must  meet  his  laughing  eyes,  showing  the  dark  and 
ever  changing  beauty  of  her  own.  Yet,  three  years 
after  marriage,  he  confessed  to  himself  that  he  knew, 
less  than  a  perplexed  lover,  just  what  fleeting  impulse 
of  fancy  would  make  her  turn.  She  was  a  creature 
of  infinite  variety,  of  subtle  tendernesses,  of  unex- 
pected rebuffs.  Deepest  of  all  in  her,  lay,  as  he  knew, 
the  passion  of  her  love  for  him.  As  for  the  superficial 
Maris,  she  was  a  wind-blown  aspen  tree  of  moods. 

Suddenly  she  wheeled  to  him  with  a  motion  not 
unlike  that  of  the  flames  she  had  been  watching, 
clasped  his  two  knees  with  her  hands,  rested  her  chin 
upon  them,  set  two  great,  sombre  eyes  upon  his  face, 
and  challenged,  — "  What  would  you  do  for  me, 
D wight,  —  to  prove  the  greatness  of  your  love  for 
me,  —  if  ever  a  test  should  come?  " 

"  What  sort  of  a  test?  "  manlike,  he  inquired. 

She  frowned  and  shook  her  head  impatiently,  her 


12  RED  HORSE  HILL 

gaze  falling  from  his.  A  look,  almost  of  sullenness, 
clouded  her  face  for  an  instant,  and  vanished  into 
sadness.  She  sighed,  and  lifted  one  hand  to  push 
back  a  long  strand  of  hair.  Her  next  words  were  a 
complete  surprise.  "  Ruth  never  liked  me  from  the 
first,"  she  said. 

Alden  caught  at  the  new  and  tangible  subject. 
"  Ruth  never  permits  herself  to  like  people  until  she 
has  diagnosed  their  souls  and  ascertained  their  the- 
ories of  nutrition,"  he  answered  lightly.  "  She  never 
lets  her  sentiments  get  ahead  of  her  even  with  the 
leash  on.  But  she's  a  fine  girl,  for  all  that!  " 

"  She  is,  —  I  feel  she  is,  though  she  keeps  me  at 
such  a  distance.  And  she's  too  pretty  to  waste  her- 
self on  being  a  professor  in  a  girls'  school.  If  it  was  a 
bo)^s'  school,  now!  She  must  be  terribly  intellectual. 
I  can't  even  remember  the  name  of  the  thing  she's 
professor  of,"  concluded  Maris,  mournfully,  but 
whether  the  sorrow  was  for  herself  or  Ruth,  the  lis- 
tener could  only  guess. 

"  She's  assistant  instructor  in  Sociology,"  he  told 
her,  "  and  that  is  only  another  way  of  saying  that 
they  feel  themselves  privileged  to  poke  into  every- 
body's business  but  their  own."  It  was  Dwight's  turn, 
now,  to  frown.  "  Ruth  will  have  to  understand, 
from  the  first,  that  I  can't  have  her  making  trouble 
in  the  Regina  Mill,  —  not,  at  least,  until  I  have 
mastered  conditions  there  a  little  better  for  myself." 

"  What  sort  of  trouble  could  she  make  for  you?  " 
asked  Maris,  with  a  frightened  catch  in  her  voice. 
"  Would  it  be  about  the  —  children  —  of  the  mills?  " 
The  peculiar  tremor  of  the  lip  was  very  noticeable. 
Alden  had  seen  it  come,  thus,  more  than  once,  when 
the  subject  of  children  had  been  touched  upon.  In 
answering,  he  kept  his  eyes  averted,  for  the  pain  it 
gave  him. 


MARRIED  LOVERS  13 

"  Chiefly  about  the  children,  I  presume,"  he  said. 
"  You  know  what  a  wave  of  mawkish  sentiment  is 
now  sweeping  over  this  land  of  ours.  Of  course  there 
are  abuses,  but  —  " 

"  She  must  not  try  to  stir  up  trouble  there!  "  in- 
terrupted Maris,  still  more  breathlessly.  "  Oh,  I  do 
hope  it  really  isn't  that  she  is  coming  for.  It's  too 
heartrending  to  talk  about.  And  she'll  do  no  good. 
All  the  ladies  here  in  Sidon  tell  me  it's  no  earthly  use 
to  try.  Schools  have  been  started,  night  schools,  play- 
grounds, —  all  those  things  you  hear  about,  and  the 
children  won't  go  to  them.  They  actually  prefer 
working  in  the  mills.  They  are  proud  of  earning  the 
money  to  help  their  parents.  And  with  children  and 
parents  both  against  you,  how  can  anything  be 
accomplished?  Nobody  has  a  right  to  come  between 
a  mother  and  her  child.  I  shall  do  my  best  to  persuade 
Ruth  against  it." 

Dwight  Alden  did  not  answer.  He  recognized  the 
parrot-like  casuistry  of  the  words,  and  knew,  well 
enough,  from  what  social  class  the  speaker  had  de- 
rived them.  Of  course  the  wives  and  daughters  of 
mill-owners  wished  no  interference  with  the  source 
of  all  their  luxuries.  Child  labor  was  cheap,  and  mill 
percentages  correspondingly  large.  But  this  was  no 
time  to  enlighten  Maris.  She  had  risen  to  her  feet 
and  gone  again  to  a  window,  where  she  stood,  look- 
ing out.  The  squawk  of  a  motor  car  came  from 
the  street.  In  the  tense  stillness  of  the  room 
the  breaking  of  a  burnt-out  hickoiy  log,  and 
the  snapping  of  sparks  made  an  absurd  commo- 
tion. Then,  from  without,  a  new  and  pleasant  sound 
was  heard. 

"  Church  bells!  "  cried  Alden,  springing  up.  "  By 
George,  I  had  forgotten  that  I  met  the  old  minister 
yesterday,  and  promised  him  that  both  of  us  should 


14  RED  HORSE  HILL 

be  in  the  Brattle  pew  to-day.    You  don't  mind  much, 
do  you?  " 

"  Mind!  Why,  I  think  it  is  perfectly  lovely  for  us 
to  go  to  church.  We  never  used  to  in  New  York. 
You  were  a  darling  to  have  promised! "  She  came 
running  back  to  him,  her  changeable  face  bright  with 
anticipation.  "  Let  me  see,  —  what  had  I  better 
wear?  "  She  frowned,  put  up  her  hand  to  her  cheek, 
and  was  in  an  instant,  deep  in  meditation.  "  That 
new  red  gown  from  Paris  might  seem  a  little  startling 
in  the  South,"  she  murmured,  chiefly  to  herself.  "  I 
reckon,  this  first  Sunday  I'd  better  be  plain  and 
dark."  Now  she  lifted  eyes  to  her  husband.  "  Don't 
you  think  I'd  better  be  plain  and  dark,  Dwight?  " 
Her  voice  thrilled  with  appeal.  One  would  have 
thought  that  upon  his  answer  depended  her  fate. 

Alden  stooped  to  kiss  her.  "  You  couldn't  be  plain 
and  dark  if  you  tried.  Whatever  you  put  on,  you'll 
be  the  prettiest  and  best-dressed  woman  in  church." 

She  flushed  with  pleasure  at  his  words.  "  Look 
out  or  you  will  make  me  so  vain  that  there  won't 
be  any  living  with  me,"  she  warned  him.  Then  she 
stood  on  tiptoe  to  fling  vehement  arms  about  his 
neck.  "  Oh,  but  I  do  love  you  to  think  me  pretty,  — 
and  I  love  nice  clothes,  —  and  you  give  me  such 
beautiful  ones!  You  are  too  good  to  me!  "  Now 
there  came  a  liquid  quiver  to  her  words  as  if  she 
were  in  the  mystery  of  a  thrush's  note  —  "  You 
give  me  everything,  —  everything  that  I  have  been 
hungry  for  all  my  life." 

He  held  her  closely.  "  You  give  me  even  more, 
my  dear  one,"  he  said.  A  little  later,  —  "  There, 
—  the  first  bell  is  ringing.  We  mustn't  be  late.  It 
might  vex  the  Reverend  Mr.  Singleterry." 

He  felt  the  form  of  Maris  stiffen  in  his  arms.  She 
drew  back  from  him,  then  clutched  at  his  coat  again 


MARRIED  LOVERS  15 

as  if  to  steady  a  sudden  trembling.  "  The  Reverend, 
—  who  —  what  name  did  you  say,  Dwight?  " 

"  Singleterry.  An  unusual  one,  isn't  it,  but  some- 
how it  precisely  suits  the  old  chap  who  bears  it. 
He  looks  like  an  English  dean  hi  a  story-book.  Why 
do  you  stare  so,  Maris,  have  you  ever?  —  Why, 
Maris!  how  pale  you  are  growing!  " 

"  No,  no!  "  she  cried  sharply,  and  wrenched  her- 
self apart  that  she  might  turn  her  face.  "  Don't 
look  at  me  so  hard.  It  is  nothing,  —  just  one  of  the 
funny  pains  I  sometimes  have!  "  She  tried  to  smile 
up  at  him  as  she  demonstrated  the  spot  by  pressing 
both  hands  over  her  heart.  "  I  am  all  right  now. 
Let  me  go.  As  you  said,  we  mustn't  be  late." 

She  turned  and  almost  ran  from  the  room,  pausing 
at  the  doorway  for  a  merry  farewell  wave  of  the  hand, 
and  a  smile  meant  to  be  reassuring. 

Alden  stared  after  her  with  eyes  hi  which  perplexity 
slowly  darkened  to  mistrust.  Why  had  the  name 
of  Singleterry  changed  her,  at  a  stroke,  into  an  image 
of  pallid  terror?  Why,  when  it  was  so  evident,  had 
she  attempted  to  deny  previous  knowledge  of  the 
name?  Perhaps  she  would  have  said  it  was  only  her 
pallor  that  she  denied.  Dwight's  nature  was  one  that 
abhorred  evasions,  and  this  was  not  the  first  time 
that  Maris'  lips  had  contradicted  all  that  his  judg- 
ment and  her  own  expressive  face  had  proclaimed. 
The  vague  sense  of  impending  trouble,  drifting  al- 
ways in  ghostly  strata  about  the  big  rooms  of  the 
Brattle  house,  rose  now  to  his  heart. 

With  a  swift  gesture  that  was  vehement  without 
being  extravagant,  and  a  muttered  anathema  against 
his  own  womanish  fears,  he  turned  back  to  the  fire, 
reseated  himself,  took  up  a  recent  New  York  paper  as 
yet  unopened,  and  soon  lost  himself  in  more  tangible 
conjectures  of  the  stock-market. 


CHAPTER  TWO 

A   FORENOON   CALL 

SIDON'S  week  of  toil  came  in  with  the  hoarse  scream- 
ing of  mill  whistles.  Before  the  first  gray  paling  of 
the  dawn  these  vocal  harpies,  escaping  from  tall 
chimneys,  flew  wide  and  tore  the  fabric  of  the  night 
to  echoes. 

The  Regina,  mindful  of  her  leadership,  possessed, 
still,  the  tallest  smoke  stack,  and  the  loudest  shriek 
of  steam.  In  the  Regina's  village,  held  like  an  ar- 
rested avalanche  of  unpainted  huts  upon  the  eastern 
slope  of  Red  Horse  Hill,  the  first  blast  of  sound 
brought  an  answering  activity.  Out  of  the  darkness 
flickered  feeble  dots  of  candle-flame,  then  the  red 
glow  of  quickly  lighted  fires,  and  in  a  few  moments 
came  the  greasy,  choking  smell  of  frying  bacon.  By 
the  call  of  the  second  whistle,  thirty  minutes  later, 
the  entire  population,  lacking  only  a  handful  of 
infants  and  fever-stricken  adults,  was  ready  to  pour 
itself,  like  lava,  down  the  reddening  slopes  into  the 
valley  where  the  great  mill,  banded  in  strata  of  chill 
morning  mist,  glared  with  its  countless  windows, 
uttering  grunts  of  steam,  and  menacing  growls  of 
machinery,  like  some  huge  beast  awakening. 

When,  finally,  the  sun  had  cleared  himself  a  peep- 
hole in  the  dawn,  he  was  affronted  by  black  clouds 
of  smoke,  soot-laden,  and  acrid  with  the  gases  of  soft 
coal.  On  the  slope  of  the  hill  already  the  village  lay 
bare  and  untenanted  as  a  forgotten  heap  of  shells. 


A  FORENOON  CALL  17 

Beyond  the  forest-mane  to  the  west,  aristocratic 
Sidon  found  the  day  more  slowly.  The  sun  was  in  the 
spring-tinted  forest  branches  when,  in  the  sleepy 
town,  trim  house  boys  or  young  negro  maids  came 
on  to  broad  verandahs  to  shake  the  rugs  out  and 
to  sweep.  Windows  in  dining-rooms  and  kitchens 
went  up  for  airing,  and  wood-smoke  rolled  deco- 
rously from  ornamented  chimney  tops.  Milk-wagons, 
vegetable  and  butcher-carts  began  their  rounds,  and 
newsboys  hurled  at  the  closed  front  doors  their 
twisted  wares.  By  nine  o'clock  breakfasts  had  been 
eaten,  and  the  men  of  the  family  had  taken  their 
leave  for  business  offices  in  "  the  city,"  or  out  to  the 
more  distant  mills.  By  ten  o'clock  residential  Sidon 
to  the  west,  and  industrial  Sidon  to  the  east  of  Red 
Horse  Hill,  had  each  settled  to  its  week-day  stride. 

Even  in  a  new  and  mixed  community  the  forenoon 
of  a  busy  Monday  is  an  unusual  hour  for  a  call.  The 
Reverend  Mark  Singleterry  was  not  ignorant  of  this 
fact;  to  be  more  definite,  he  had  arranged  his  visit 
because  of  it.  He  wished  to  see  his  new  parishioner, 
Mrs.  Dwight  Alden  of  New  York,  alone,  and,  as  he 
made  his  way  slowly  up  the  hill,  the  troubled  look 
on  his  clean,  scholarly  old  face  indicated  that  his 
mission  was  not  one  accompanied  by  joyous  antici- 
pation. 

His  rectory  and  its  contiguous  church,  "  St. 
John's,"  a  new,  expensive  structure  of  the  sort  called, 
vaguely,  "  Gothic,"  were  on  the  fashionable  avenue 
where,  farther  to  the  west,  stood  the  Brattle  mansion. 
Between  the  two  locations,  along  the  main  street, 
ran  narrow  pavements  of  new  cement;  but  there 
were  lateral  thoroughfares  of  viscid  mud  which,  in 
spite  of  carefully  chosen  footing  and  more  than  one 
stork  like  leap,  had  turned  the  minister's  neat  black 
boots  to  a  rusty  tan. 


18  RED  HORSE  HILL 

The  sun  shone  warm  this  March  morning.  The 
old  man  felt  a  moisture  at  the  band  of  his  clerical 
hat,  and  took  it  off,  baring  his  white  head  to  whatever 
stray  breeze  might  deign  to  come.  He  gave  a  sigh, 
threw  his  chin  up  with  a  little  jerk,  and  passed  his 
long  fingers  slowly  through  the  shining  silver  strands 
upon  his  brow.  The  air  felt  good  to  him.  The  re- 
leased pressure  from  the  close  hat  band  was  a  distinct 
relief.  This  was  almost  as  good  as  being  in  a  garden. 

Unconsciously  his  pace  diminished.  One  long, 
narrow  foot  followed  the  other  up  the  cemented 
slope,  and  each  step  left  the  earth  with  more  re- 
luctance. With  that  backward  gesture  of  the  head, 
Dr.  Singleterry  had  noted,  for  the  first  time,  the 
intense  color  of  the  morning  sky.  "  Like  a  blue 
gentian  of  the  gods,"  the  old  man  thought,  "  and 
those  fleecy  white  clouds  about  the  horizon  are  its 
fringes."  He  smiled,  as  he  always  did  at  the  sight 
or  at  the  thought  of  flowers,  and,  with  this  leverage 
from  a  troubled  present,  had  soon  passed  into  reverie. 

It  was  no  longer  the  hard,  new  pavements  of  a 
modern  city  that  he  trod,  but  the  old  sidewalks  of  a 
village  among  North  Carolina  hills,  the  little  town 
of  Orbury.  The  only  curbings  there  were  the  inter- 
twisted roots  of  the  oaks  that  lined  its  one  long 
street,  and  the  clay  banks  of  ditches  where  ferns  and 
ageratum  and  the  blue  wild  violets  throve  un- 
disturbed. Stately  old  houses  set  back  in  the  midst 
of  square,  colonial  gardens,  gleamed  to  the  right  and 
to  the  left  of  him.  Three  houses  farther  on  would  be 
an  ivy  covered  church,  a  church  whose  very  sil- 
houette against  the  sky  was  eloquent  of  quiet  wor- 
ship, —  and  here,  for  nearly  two-score  years  he  had 
ministered,  knowing  his  flock  and  loving  it  as  only 
a  lonely  poet  soul  can  love. 

A  deeper  sigh  rose  to  the  still  air;  and  the  old  man 


A  FORENOON  CALL  19 

wondered,  for  the  thousandth  time,  how  he  had 
ever  consented  to  leave  Orbury,  or  had  believed  him- 
self capable  of  battling  with  the  new  problems  of  the 
outer  world.  Perhaps,  after  all,  the  personal  element 
had  had  more  to  do  with  it  than  he  was  then  willing 
to  admit.  Certainly  the  death  of  his  best  friend, 
Daniel  Brue,  following  so  closely  upon  the  tragic  and 
unsuccessful  quest  of  his  only  child,  had  changed,  for 
him,  the  face  of  nature.  In  a  wider  sphere  of  activity 
he  had  hoped  to  drown  his  lonely  grief,  as  well  as  to 
accomplish  something  of  more  definite  good.  In 
neither  hope  had  he  been  fortunate.  This  could  not 
be  denied,  and  here  in  Sidon  things  were  growing 
steadily  worse  for  him.  As  if  to  climax  and  to  vivify 
his  vague  forebodings  he  had  seen  yesterday,  among 
his  congregation,  as  one  sees  through  the  darkness 
some  phantom  of  the  night,  the  ashen  face  and  burn- 
ing eyes  of  Daniel's  child,  of  Maris  Brue. 

The  blue  above  him  had  begun  to  pale.  Dr.  Single- 
terry  shook  his  head  slowly,  and  then,  with  the  air 
of  one  who  dons  a  hair  cloth  shirt,  replaced  the  wide 
felt  hat.  Now  he  looked  about  him.  The  Brattle 
house,  its  square  pretence  at  once  marred  and  em- 
phasized by  the  conspicuous  porte  cochere,  stood 
only  a  hundred  yards  away.  No  need  for  haste.  He 
would  reach  it  soon  enough. 

Although  he  had  thought  of  little  else  all  night, 
he  must  attempt  to  realize  once  again,  and  this  time 
very  clearly,  that  the  mistress  of  the  great  mansion, 
now  known  as  Mrs.  Alden,  was  Maris  Brue.  If  he 
could  only  be  sure,  before  he  entered,  that  she  had 
clear  right  to  use  her  present  name;  that  she  had 
not  again,  as  once  before,  grasped  at  forbidden  fruit. 
"  Ah,  Maris,  my  little  Maris,"  he  almost  groaned, 
"  the  old  Eve  was  always  very  strong  in  you." 

Though  his  thought  and  his  words  condemned, 


20  RED  HORSE  HILL 

his  kind  old  eyes  had  softened.  Maris  had,  from 
her  infancy,  been  strangely  dear  to  him,  and  her 
deliberate  severance,  after  her  father's  death,  of  all 
friendly  ties  in  Orbury,  had  been  one  of  the  keenest 
sorrows  the  old  minister  had  ever  known. 

What  an  untamable  fire-fly  of  a  child  she  had 
always  been!  And  yet  how  generous,  how  quickly 
touched  to  goodness!  The  old  man  smiled.  He 
could  see  her  now  as  clearly  as  he  saw  that  sallow 
mill-child  passing.  Often  at  the  click  of  her  father's 
gate  in  Orbury  she  had  run  down  the  long  box  set 
path  to  meet  him,  her  little  arms  upraised,  her  eyes 
shining  like  the  glowworms  that,  by  night,  couched 
among  the  hedge  roots.  Or,  if  there  were  not  time 
to  enter,  and  he  merely  slackened  pace  that  he  might 
peer  over  the  low  brick  wall  for  her,  she  would  be 
always  somewhere  in  the  tangled  garden  where 
she  alone,  since  her  young  mother's  death,  had  been 
allowed  to  walk. 

It  was  a  strange  and  lonely  life,  perhaps,  for  a 
child,  just  herself,  the  widowed  father,  and  old 
Mammy  Chloe,  with  daily  visits  from  Dr.  Single- 
terry.  Some  of  the  neighbors,  good  women  who  had 
known  Maris'  mother  and  grandmother,  —  a  few 
of  them  even  her  great-grandmother  who  was  an 
Imboden,  —  protested  in  the  child's  behalf,  and 
forced  Daniel  Brue  to  send  her,  part  of  the  time,  at 
least,  to  school. 

But  to  the  place  of  learning  Maris  went  or  not, 
just  as  she  willed;  read,  as  she  pleased  in  her  father's 
old-fashioned,  classic  library;  and  spent  most  of  her 
time  in  the  overgrown  coverts  of  the  garden,  where 
she  had  established  a  fairy  kingdom,  and  where  she 
reigned,  a  dainty  tyrant,  Empress  of  a  realm  of 
fantasies. 

It  became  a  common  saying  in  the  village  that 


A  FORENOON  CALL  21 

Daniel  Brue  would  live  to  regret  the  lawless  up- 
bringing of  his  child.  When,  at  an  earlier  date  than 
the  old  dames  had  reckoned,  this  prophecy  was  ful- 
filled, it  is  but  justice  to  say  that  there  was  no  gloat- 
ing triumph,  only  a  passionate  sympathy  both  with 
the  father,  and  with  the  headstrong  girl  who  had 
brought  upon  herself  the  tragedy. 

The  minister  closed  his  eyes  and  shivered  a  little 
at  the  recollection.  For  the  last  few  moments  he  had 
been  walking  briskly,  driven  by  his  inward  agitation. 
He  paused  and  stared  about  him  as  before,  and  now 
a  look  as  of  boyish  embarrassment  spread  over  his 
face,  and  a  thin  flush  mounted.  He  had  walked  clear 
past  the  Brattle  gate.  The  trivial  incident  troubled 
him  not  a  little.  It  was  bad  luck  to  pass  a  gate  and 
retrace  one's  steps  to  it.  He  glanced  wistfully  ahead. 
The  thought  flashed  to  his  mind  that  he  would  keep 
directly  on  along  the  avenue,  turn,  at  the  next  crossing, 
to  the  right,  and,  making  his  way  around  the  block 
come  out  at  a  street  now  some  yards  behind  him,  to 
the  east,  so  that  he  could  again  approach  the  Brattle 
house  from  an  orthodox  direction.  But,  in  an  instant, 
the  impulse  was  dismissed.  It  was  too  childish.  Be- 
sides Maris  might  have  been  watching  and  would 
surely  laugh  at  him.  It  was  one  of  Dr.  Singleterry's 
deep  seated  weaknesses,  —  the  horror  of  being 
laughed  at. 

With  a  heart  several  ounces  heavier  than  it  had 
been  a  moment  earlier,  he  turned  about,  came  to  the 
low  iron  gate,  opened  it  with  a  vigorous  "  click,"  and 
walked  swiftly  up  the  cemented  walk. 

Archer  answered  to  his  ring. 

"  Yassir.  M'is  Alden's  in.  She's  settin'  in  the 
drawin'-room.  This  way,  Sir." 

At  the  threshold  Dr.  Singleterry  paused,  and  looked 
down  ruefully  at  his  muddy  boots.  He  longed  to 


22  RED  HORSE  HILL 

go  back  and  scrape  them,  but  Archer  stood  by  in 
an  attitude  of  rigid  attention,  and  the  visitor  forbore. 

"  Shall  I  take  your  hat,  Sir?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  minister,  and  grasped  the  just 
mentioned  article  as  if  it  were  a  talisman.  "  I  prefer 
to  retain  it." 

Archer  looked  politely  surprised,  and  turned  away. 

Dr.  Singleterry  took  a  few  hesitating  steps  into 
the  room.  Blinded  by  the  clear  sunlight  through 
which  he  had  come  he  saw  now,  as  in  a  blur,  the  in- 
distinct grouping  of  furniture,  the  gleam  of  polished 
floors,  and  the  iridescent  light  that  filtered  in  through 
curtains  of  many-colored  tissue.  A  low,  silken  rush 
of  women's  garments  told  him  that  from  some  in- 
distinguishable nook  his  hostess  had  risen  and  was 
hurrying  toward  him. 

With  both  hands  he  grasped  tightly  the  rim  of  his 
hat,  holding  it  upright  before  his  single  row  of  clerical 
coat  buttons.  He  was  not  sure  he  wished  to  take 
the  hands  this  rustling  lady  would  hold  out  to  him. 
She  must  have  understood  the  gesture,  for  she  paused 
suddenly,  and  then  said  in  a  conventional  voice, 
"  Dr.  Singleterry,  is  it  not?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Let  us  come  this  way,  —  nearer  the  fire,"  said 
Maris,  preceding  him  down  the  long  room. 

From  the  dim  beauty  of  the  space  his  eye  secured, 
in  passing,  but  a  single  clear  detail,  a  glass  bowl 
of  daffodils  on  a  table  which,  as  in  a  stream,  reflected 
their  image  in  the  rich  mahogany. 

The  friendly  fire  beckoned  as  if  in  welcome.  Mrs. 
Alden  motioned  her  visitor  to  a  chair,  the  one,  where, 
on  the  previous  morning,  Dwight  Alden  had  lounged  at 
ease.  But  the  old  man,  with  an  imperceptible  shake 
of  the  head,  refused  it,  selecting  for  himself  an  up- 
right chair,  on  the  front  edge  of  which  he  sat,  his 


A  FORENOON  CALL  23 

back  bone  rigid,  his  hat  still  held  vertically  against 
his  chest. 

Maris  threw  herself  into  an  arm  chair  opposite,  and 
plunged  recklessly  into  the  perilous  theme,  "  You 
recognized  me  yesterday!  " 

"  Yes,  on  the  instant." 

"  I  had  hoped,  —  that  is,"  she  corrected,  "  I  had 
believed  myself  greatly  changed." 

The  other  looked  gravely  upon  her.  "  Yours  is 
a  face  too  changeable  ever  really  to  change,"  he  said, 
and  the  epigram  was,  in  a  certain  sense,  a  help  to 
him.  "  Besides,  my  memory  for  faces  is  as  good 
as  my  memory  for  names  is  bad." 

She  did  not  answer  this,  but  sat  still,  gazing  into 
the  fire.  Her  motionless  attitude  had  as  little  of 
repose  in  it  as  would  an  arrested  flame. 

Dr.  Singleterry  waited  nervously.  He  cleared  his 
throat  slightly,  and  then  coughed,  wondering  what 
next  to  say.  Being  a  man  he  had  few  arts  for  con- 
cealing his  uneasiness.  At  length  the  tension  grew 
too  fine.  Something  must  be  done. 

"  I  fear,  Maris,  that  you  underestimated  the  love 
and  sympathy  of  your  friends  at  Orbury,"  he  said. 
"  The  long  waiting  for  tidings  was  hard  for  some  of 
us." 

"  I  knew  it  was,"  answered  Maris,  with  a  hint  of 
sullenness.  "  Sometimes  I  had  to  lie  awake  at  night 
worrying  over  it.  I  could  just  hear  the  kind  of  things 
you  all  were  saying,  especially  old  Mrs.  Weldon;" 
here  her  face  hardened.  "  But,  most  of  the  time,  I 
didn't  care.  I  was  too  miserable  to  care,  either  for 
myself  or  others.  You  heard,  at  least,  that  I  had 
failed?  " 

He  nodded  sadly.  "  Yes,  at  the  last  news,  you  had 
still  been  unable  to  trace  that  evil-doer,  Martin, 
and  —  " 


24  RED  HORSE  HILL 

She  broke  in  with  a  gesture  showing  that  she  could 
not  bear  the  forthcoming  words.  "  Yes,  I  failed.  He 
—  he  and  his  companions  —  seemed  to  have  van- 
ished from  the  face  of  the  earth.  There  was  some 
rumor  of  a  train-wreck,  and  his  name  was  published 
among  the  injured,  but  I  felt  at  the  time,  and  my 
lawyers  felt,  that  he  had  caused  this  to  be  printed 
merely  to  trick  me.  It  was  not  until  three  years  later 
that  he  died." 

Dr.  Singleterry  gave  an  eager  start.  His  whole 
aspect  changed.  His  eyes  brightened.  "  Then  he 
is  dead!  You  were  certain  of  his  death  before  your 
second  marriage!  " 

Maris  drew  herself  upright,  and,  for  an  instant, 
stared  incredulously.  "  You  don't  mean  to  say  that 
you  have  been  thinking  anything  else,"  she  challenged. 
Then  her  lips  shook.  "  So  that  was  what  your  face 
was  saying  to  me  from  the  pulpit,  yesterday." 

Her  eyes  began  to  blaze.  The  old  man  shrank  back, 
in  consternation.  Suddenly  Maris,  too,  began  to 
cower.  She  crouched  down  in  her  cushioned  seat, 
and  put  both  hands  up  before  her  face. 

"  Oh,  oh,"  he  heard  her  moan.  "  It  is  things  like 
this  they  think  of  me  at  home?  " 

"  My  dear  girl,"  cried  the  minister,  now  all  con- 
trition. "  Do  not  mistake  my  meaning.  At  the 
worst  I  thought  perhaps  you  might  have  taken 
advantage  of  the  laws  of  man  which  would  quickly 
have  given  you  release  from  such  a  miscreant. 
But  you  know  that  I  hold  little  by  such  laws,  and  I 
would  not  like  to  think  of  my  little  Maris—  He 
broke  off,  and  leaned  to  pat  her  shoulder  gently. 
"  Don't  cry,  Maris.  I  am  deeply  troubled  that  I  have 
hurt  you,  but  this  doubt  has  been  tormenting  me 
ever  since  I  saw  you  yesterday,  by  the  side  of  the 
strong,  noble  looking  man  who  is  now  your  husband. 


A  FORENOON  CALL  25 

I  am  thankful  that  you  have  found  happiness,  my 
child." 

Maris  took  down  her  hands  and  tried  to  smile 
at  him.  "  After  all,  it  is  my  own  fault.  I  should 
have  let  my  friends  in  Orbury  know  when  the  news 
of  Martin's  death  first  reached  me,  —  but  much  was 
happening  in  my  life,  just  then.  I  should  have  sent 
them  notice,  too,  of  my  marriage  to  Mr.  Alden. 
But  you  were  away  from  Orbury,  and  I  did  not 
know  your  address.  With  you  and  my  father  both 
gone  -  Her  voice  trembled. 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  dear,"  he  said  sympathetically, 
"  I  can  realize  now  how  it  all  seemed  to  you.  Don't 
tell  me  more  if  it  troubles  you." 

"  I  want  to  speak,  now  I  have  begun,"  said  Maris. 
"  It  softens  something  in  me,  though  I  feel  an  un- 
reality, as  if  we  were  both  speaking  of  a  dead  woman. 
It  was  so  long,  —  so  long  ago !  The  degradation,  the 
hideous  shame  of  what  I  endured  in  Orbury!  Can 
you  wonder  that  I  shrank  from  going  back?  " 

"  But  the  fault  was  not  with  you,  poor  child." 

"  I  had  brought  it  on  myself,  after  advice  from  all 
who  loved  me.  It  broke  my  father's  heart  when 
I  married  Martin.  I  was  infatuated,  I  suppose.  It 
seemed  to  me  a  generous  thing  to  do,  to  lift  him  to 
our  higher  level,  —  to  bring  out  all  that  I  thought 
fine  and  good  in  him!  You  know  how  he  repaid 
that  trust!" 

For  an  instant  she  grew  so  white  that  the  minister 
thought  she  must  swoon.  "  There  now,  there  now," 
he  soothed.  "  Let  us  say  no  more  of  it." 

"  I  cannot  stop  now,"  she  said,  between  clenched 
teeth.  "  I  must  go  on.  You  all  knew  that  my  mar- 
ried life  with  him  was  as  wretched  as  you  had  fore- 
seen. But  I  was  bearing  it  for  the  baby's  sake.  I 
kept  my  agony  to  myself  so  that  I  do  not  think 


26  RED  HORSE  HILL 

even  my  father  suspected  all  that  Martin  put  upon 
me.  I  would  have  continued  to  endure,  but  my  very 
silence  seemed  to  make  Felicia's  father  hate  me.  No 
one,  —  no  one  on  earth  knows  what  I  suffered.  I 
wonder  now  that  I  could  have  hidden  it.  And  when 
he  saw  he  could  vent  his  hate  for  me  no  other  way,  - 
he  left  me,  —  for  a  servant,  —  and  took  my  child !  " 

She  was  quivering  now  from  head  to  foot.  The  old 
man  found  no  words,  only  looked  at  her  with  loving, 
suffering  eyes. 

.  "  Do  you  wonder,"  she  burst  out  again,  with  in- 
tense bitterness,  "  that  I  was  ashamed  to  show  my 
face  again  in  Orbury?  " 

"  No  shame  can  degrade  so  long  as  it  is  nobly 
borne,"  said  the  old  man.  "  Let  us  think  no  more  of 
the  sinner,  Martin.  God  has  removed  him  from  your 
path.  Tell  me,  instead,  of  what  befell  you  after  you 
had  given  up  your  efforts  in  the  West." 

His  quiet  tones  soothed  and  steadied  her.  In  an- 
swer to  his  request,  she  folded  her  hands  in  her  lap 
as  one  who  tells  an  impersonal  narrative,  and  said, 
evenly: 

"  I  stayed  on  in  Kansas  City  where  the  lawyers  are 
until  I  had  spent  everything,  even  the  little  patri- 
mony that  you  forwarded  to  me  after  my  father's 
death.  The  lawyers  needed  it  for  detectives,  and 
personal  expenses,  and  a  lot  of  other  things  that  I 
forget." 

"  I  have  heard  that  lawyers  are  insatiable,"  said 
the  old  man,  naively. 

"  When  the  money  was  gone,"  she  continued,  in 
the  same  matter-of-fact  tone,  "  of  course  I  had  to 
think  how  I  could  earn  more." 

"  You  should  have  known  that  you  had,  always, 
a  home  with  me,"  said  the  minister. 

"  I  did  know  that,  dear  Dr.  Singleterry,"  said 


A  FORENOON  CALL  27 

Maris,  and  put  her  hand  out  to  clasp,  for  an  instant, 
one  of  his.  "  But  there  was  no  peace  like  that  for 
me.  I  had  to  go  to  work  out  there  in  the  big  world, 
and  gain  what  I  could  so  that  the  lawyers  could  con- 
tinue searching.  As  you  may  know,  I  had  no  rest 
by  night  or  day.  As  for  that,"  she  added,  her  voice 
sinking,  and  her  face  changing  to  a  deep  sadness, 
"  though  my  present  marriage  has  brought  me  hap- 
piness, I  have  not  yet  gained  peace." 

"  And  how  did  a  will-o'-the-wisp  like  you  earn 
money  in  the  great  world?  " 

She  turned  a  sad  little  fleeting  smile  to  him.  "  Oh, 
I  know  I  was  naughty  about  my  schooling,  but  I 
could  always  learn  when  I  wanted  to.  I  took  up 
stenography,  and  did  well  at  it.  For  a  little  while 
I  was  in  the  office  of  my  lawyers  at  Kansas  City. 
Then  one  was  rather  —  rather  —  familiar,  and  I  left 
them.  I  think  the  junior  partner  never  quite  forgave 
me  for  the  rebuff.  And  then,  by  a  great  piece  of 
good  fortune,  too  long  to  explain  now,  I  finally  got  a 
position  in  New  York,  in  the  office  of  a  well-known 
firm,  Brattle,  King  and  Alden." 

"  Alden,"  repeated  the  old  man  thoughtfully,  and 
for  some  reason  Maris  went  suddenly  crimson. 

"  I  had  been  ill  once  in  Kansas  City,"  she  hurried 
on.  "  I  don't  know  whether  you  ever  heard.  It 
was  some  form  of  nervous  trouble  with  a  new  name. 
About  three  years  ago,  in  New  York,  I  broke  down 
in  the  same  way.  They  thought  I  could  not  get  well. 
The  firm  was  most  kind  to  me,  insisted  upon  sending 
me  to  an  expensive  hospital,  and  all  that.  While 
in  the  hospital,"  she  paused  unexpectedly,  and  the 
sudden  silence  had  the  effect  of  a  gasp,  "  during  my 
convalescence,  Mr.  Alden  asked  me  to  be  his  wife. 
We  were  married  in  the  hospital  chapel." 

She  leaned  back,  glad  that  her  narrative  was  done. 


28  RED  HORSE  HILL 

All  at  once  she  had  become  weary,  almost  faint,  and 
a  breath  of  the  old  sickness  stole  to  her  through  the 
years. 

Dr.  Singleterry  had  remained  upright,  his  face 
thoughtful. 

"  How  long  before  your  second  marriage  had  you 
known  of  James  Martin's  death?  " 

Again  the  red  tide  swept  over  Maris'  cheeks  and 
throat.  "  Not  very  long,  I  must  admit.  In  fact,  it 
was  that  news,  brought  me  at  the  very  height  of  my 
illness,  that  made  it  possible  for  me  to  get  well." 

Dr.  Singleterry  made  a  vague  sound  in  his  throat. 
A  small  chill,  as  of  fear,  ran  through  Maris.  What 
did  he  mean  by  that  grave  face?  And  what  was  he 
to  ask  her  next? 

"  Was  it  merely  a  rumor  of  Martin's  death,  Maris, 
or  did  you  receive  clear  proofs?  " 

"  Why,  written  proofs,  of  course.  I  would  not 
have  risked  anything  without  them.  I  had  written 
to  my  lawyers  just  on  the  eve  of  my  break-down, 
saying  that  I  could  not  send  any  more  money,  per- 
haps for  months,  and  begging  them  to  trust  me  for 
awhile,  —  not  to  give  up  the  search." 

The  old  man  was  silent  for  a  few  moments.  Then 
he  said,  slowly,  "  I  think  it  would  have  been  better 
had  you  given  up  that  firm  of  lawyers,  particularly 
after  what  you  term  the  rebuff  to  one  of  them." 

"  My  instinct  was  that  way,  too,"  answered  Maris. 
"  But  I  reasoned  it  out  like  this.  They  had  been  hi 
touch  with  the  wretched  affair  from  the  very  first, 
and  were  at  that  time  on  a  new  and  promising  clue. 
If  I  took  the  case  from  them  they  would  be  angry, 
and  almost  certainly  refuse  to  tell  another  lawyer 
what  had  been  done.  I  had  committed  myself  to 
them,  as  the  saying  is." 

"  Yes,  that  is  a  good  argument,"  admitted  the  other. 


A  FORENOON  CALL  29 

"  Besides,"  Maris  went  on,  her  voice  sinking,  "  I 
did  not  want  to  tell  any  more  people  than  necessary." 
Her  look  of  humiliation  smote  her  companion. 

"  Well,  well!  "  he  cried,  with  an  attempt  at  cheer- 
fulness, "  it  has  turned  out  well  enough,  it  seems. 
They  have  accomplished  the  search,  and  sent  you 
proofs.  Was  your  husband,  Mr.  Alden,  quite  satisfied 
with  the  proofs?  " 

This  question  Maris  did  not  seem  to  hear.  Her  face 
was  growing  more  distressed.  She  had  begun  to  twist 
and  to  untwist  the  fingers  of  both  hands,  one  into  the 
other.  Now  she  sat  forward  on  the  very  edge  of  her 
chair  as  if,  in  another  instant,  she  must  spring  to  her 
feet.  When  she  spoke  her  voice  thrilled  with  a 
deeper  note. 

"  You  seem  to  forget,"  she  breathed,  "  that  neither 
Martin's  life  or  his  death  was  what  most  concerned 
me.  He  was  not  my  quest.  It  was  Felicia,  —  my 
little  girl,  Felicia."  The  name  broke  from  her  in  a 
stifled  sob.  She  sprang  up,  and  began  to  pace  to 
and  fro,  always  silently  wringing  her  slender  hands. 
The  old  man  shivered  under  the  intensity  of  her 
words. 

"  And  have  your  lawyers  never  found  a  clue  of 
her,  or  of  the  nurse-girl,  Jane?  "  he  managed  to  ask. 

She  paused  in  her  walk  to  answer. 

"  Nothing  of  Jane,  —  we  scarcely  thought  of  her. 
But  Felicia,  —  "  here  she  caught  herself  into  silence, 
and  bit  her  lip  hard  that  she  might  go  on  speaking, 
"  In  that  Potter's  Field  where  the  certificates  tell  me 
the  body  of  James  Martin  lies,  there  is,  —  quite  near 
him,  —  another  grave,  —  a  little,  little  grave  —  " 

Dr.  Singleterry  let  his  head  fall  forward  to  his 
hand.  He  could  not  bear  the  look  in  Maris'  upturned 
face.  "  Yes,  —  yes,"  he  choked  out,  at  last. 

"  The  lawyers  want  me  to  believe  that  she  lies 


30  RED  HORSE  HILL 

there.  No  actual  record  of  the  little  grave  is  to  be 
found,  but  they  think  it  probable  — "  Suddenly 
she  stopped,  wheeled  about,  and  came  up  to  him,  her 
small  alert  figure  shaking  from  head  to  foot,  her  fists 
clenched,  her  eyes  burning  with  the  passion  of  her 
baffled  motherhood. 

"  It  is  the  thought  of  her,  —  my  baby,  my  little 
baby,  —  that  is  never  absent  from  me.  I  cannot 
believe  that  she  is  dead.  I  know  she  is  not!  For  I 
have  crept  out  in  the  darkness  and  lain  down  on  the 
friendly  earth,  —  close  —  close,  —  with  my  cheek 
against  it;  —  and  if  that  little  form,  that  fibre  of  my 
living  flesh  and  soul,  were  hidden  under  the  soil,  some- 
thing would  let  me  know  it,  —  something  subtler 
and  more  wonderful  than  all  the  fluids  which  science 
now  is  finding.  I  have  called  to  my  baby  under 
earth's  grassy  covering,  and  she  does  not  answer. 
She  is  alive,  somewhere,  —  somewhere,  —  wandering 
lost,  perhaps.  Oh,  I  am  married  to  a  good  man  who 
loves  me,  —  I  have  all  that  I  need  and  more,  —  and 
more,  —  but  I  can  never  see  a  child,  —  a  rich  child 
or  a  poor  one,  —  but  I  must  ask  myself,  '  Is  she,  — 
my  baby,  —  happy  and  cared  for,  like  this  child;  or 
is  she  wretched  and  unhappy,  —  perhaps  ill-used? ' 
If  she  is  still  with  that  woman  who  helped  to  steal  her, 
there  is  no  depth  so  low  that  she  may  not  be  hidden 
there.  I  fear  the  sight  of  children !  I  tremble  at  the 
thought  of  them.  Sometimes  I  think  I  cannot  bear 
it  any  longer.  One  should  not  bear  such  horror  and 
stay  alive!"  Her  words  were  coming  in  disjointed 
fragments,  each  phrase  a  cry  of  agony. 

The  old  man  was  voiceless.  He  too  was  shaking 
with  her  passion. 

There  was  a  long  silence  broken  only  by  her  strug- 
gles for  composure.  After  a  while  she  could  speak 
more  naturally. 


A  FORENOON  CALL  31 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "  that  sometimes  it 
seems  to  me  the  chief  horror,  —  the  most  hideous 
mockery  of  the  whole  situation,  that  I  should 
have  named  my  child  'Felicia!'  How  did  I  dare? 
James  Martin  was  her  father.  I  had  begun  to 
know  that  the  future  held  nothing  but  misery  for  us 
both." 

"  Let  us  try  to  think  of  the  blessings  that  still  are 
yours,  my  child,"  said  the  old  man,  zealous  to  com- 
fort her.  "  You  have  a  noble  husband." 

"  Yes,"  she  broke  in  almost  rudely,  "  I  have  that 
priceless  blessing,  —  I  do  not  undervalue  it.  Some- 
times the  woman  part  of  me  is  happy,  —  deliriously 
happy!  I  love  my  husband  with  an  almost  desperate 
love,  as  we  cling  to  a  treasure  that  may  be  taken  from 
us.  But  the  indivisible  part  of  me,  —  the  mother 
part!  —  there  are  the  vultures  tearing  always  on  a 
self-renewing  sore!" 

The  old  man  roused  himself.  "  Your  sorrow  is 
deep,  I  know,"  he  said.  "  But  you  could  bear  it  in 
a  higher  way.  You  speak  like  a  tortured  pagan, 
rather  than  a  child  of  God." 

He  spoke  perhaps  more  sternly  than  he  knew, 
holding  himself  stiffly  in  his  stiff  backed  chair.  The 
pallor  of  his  face  showed  the  strain  through  which  he 
had  been  passing. 

Maris  stared,  not  comprehending  on  the  instant; 
then  her  quick  sympathy  rushed  to  his  defence.  She 
hurried  up  to  him,  kneeling  by  his  side.  "  Forgive 
me,  dear  Dr.  Singleterry.  I  will  not  rave  like  that 
any  more.  But  it  is  the  first  time  that  I  have  been 
able  to  speak  freely  for  seven  years.  Just  think  of 
that,  —  seven  long  years.  It  has  done  me  good,  al- 
though I  suffered  as  I  told  it.  Now  you  must  help 
me  put  it  behind  me  for  another  seven  years,  —  per- 
haps for  ever.  I  want  you  to  talk  to  me  of  Orbury, 


32  RED  HORSE  HILL 

—  to  tell  me  all  that  you  have  done  since  I  saw  you 
last." 

She  rose  and  drew  her  arm-chair  forward,  and  sat 
down  quietly.  She  had  the  outward  appearance 
of  completely  restored  serenity. 

The  visitor  made  no  pretence  of  hiding  his  relief. 
After  a  long  life  of  service,  he  had  begun  to  find,  at 
times,  a  sudden  drain  of  sympathy  strangely  exhaust- 
ing. He  put  his  hand,  now,  to  his  heart,  but  his  face 
was  clearing,  and  when  he  began  to  speak,  Maris 
closed  her  eyes  that  she  might  feel  herself,  again, 
a  child  in  Orbmy., 


CHAPTER   THREE 

THE  DEVIL'S   QUADRILLE 

IT  is  strange  how  quickly  a  room  takes  on  the  mood 
of  its  human  occupants. 

The  very  fire  on  Maris'  hearth  which,  for  the  last 
half  hour  had  crackled,  choked  and  sent  up  small 
acrid  gusts  of  sooty  flame,  now  drew  itself  together 
into  a  compact  mass  of  cheerful  embers.  Instead 
of  the  flickering  light  and  shade,  to  intensify  the  vary- 
ing expressions  of  suffering  and  excitement  on  both 
faces,  a  steady  crimson  glow  threw  upon  them  serenity 
and  a  sort  of  fictitious  youthfulness. 

The  first  words  came  from  Maris  and  were  spoken 
dreamily.  "  I  can  just  see  yonder,  over  the  church- 
yard wall,  the  pointed  red  gables  of  your  rectory." 
She  sighed,  half  in  regret,  half  hi  the  luxury  of  a 
pleasant  recollection,  and  the  old  man  unconsciously 
repeated  the  reflective  sound. 

"  Those  were  our  golden  days,  my  child.  And  do 
you,"  he  went  on,  "  by  any  chance  remember  that 
long  row  of  French  artichokes  that  used  to  grow 
against  my  side  of  the  wall?  " 

"  Indeed  I  do,  as  if  I  walked  along  them  now.  The 
leaves  were  of  silver  tapestry." 

He  laughed  a  low  laugh  of  pleasure.  "  And  when 
the  sun's  meridian  heat  wilted  their  splendor,  I  used 
to  think  of  them  as  silver  lace  upon  an  altar-cloth. 
And  then  the  row  of  savory  herbs,  —  my  thyme  and 


34  RED  HORSE  HILL 

lavender,  with  coriander  and  the  old  fashioned  bitter- 
sweet. I've  never  yet  seen  gilly-flowers  that  would 
have  dared  measure  their  height  with  mine.  The 
mignonette,  too,  became  quite  famous  in  the  village, 
so  that  when  one  walked  along  the  streets  bearing  a 
spray  of  special  beauty  the  passer  by  would  think, 
if  indeed  he  did  not  speak  openly  the  thought,  '  Some 
one  has  been  to  Dr.  Singleterry's  garden.' ' 

He  sat  brooding,  the  trouble  all  vanished  from  his 
face.  Upon  it  shone  the  soft  radiance  of  tender  remi- 
niscence. Maris  leaned  forward  in  her  chair  to  watch 
him.  Affection  was  in  her  eyes,  and  yet  a  little 
wonder,  too.  Was  this  what  it  meant  to  be  old,  — 
that  present  stress  could  slip  from  the  shoulders  like 
a  velvet  pall,  and  one  sit  dreaming  in  the  midst  of 
it,  —  dreaming  of  a  vanished  garden? 

He  came  back  with  a  little  start.  "  The  rectory 
they  have  given  me  here  in  Sidon  is  a  much  more 
expensive  building,  —  an  abomination  of  pretence ! 
But  not  a  garden,  front  or  back.  No  spot  to  dig  or 
to  think  in  but  a  wee  mouldy  patch  of  earth  the  size 
of  this  hearth  rug,  under  my  study  window.  But 
already  I  have  planted  pinks  in  it  and  they  are  grow- 
ing. You  remember  that  I  had  pinks  under  my  study 
windows  at  Orbury,  too?  " 

Maris  smiled  and  nodded.    He  went  on  eagerly. 

"  No  such  inspiration  for  a  sermon,  Maris,  as  that 
which  swings  in  the  censer  of  a  small  clove  pink.  I 
can  almost  smell  them  now!  " 

"  I  do  smell  them,"  asserted  Maris  recklessly,  and 
sniffed  the  air.  "  Oh,  what  years  and  years  it  has  been 
since  I  have  seen  them  growing,  tumbling  always 
over  the  brick  edges  of  the  bed,  and  trying  to  run 
away." 

"  Well,  well,"  chuckled  the  old  man  in  delight, 
"  before  long  you  shall  see  a  whole  procession,  carry- 


THE   DEVIL'S  QUADRILLE  35 

ing  the  banners  of  their  heavenly  faith.  My  buds 
are  swelling  fast." 

"  I  am  going  to  have  some  flowers  after  a  while 
in  this  bare  garden,"  said  Maris,  glancing  out  toward 
the  unfinished  space.  "  Until  now  I  have  been  busy 
every  minute  trying  to  make  the  enormous,  cold 
house  feel  like  a  home  to  live  in." 

The  minister  looked  at  her  with  his  gentle  smile. 
"  I  know  well  the  difficulty  of  the  task.  It  has  been 
mine  for  nearly  a  year."  As  he  spoke,  the  old  troubled 
look  came  back  to  him.  "  Alas,  my  dear,  if  it  was  a 
mistake  for  me  to  give  up  Orbury,  it  was  nothing  less 
than  a  calamity  when  I  allowed  myself  to  be  per- 
suaded to  accept  the  call  to  Sidon.  All  that  I  had 
hoped  to  accomplish  here  was  made  impossible  for 
me  even  before  I  had  arrived." 

"  Why,  what  was  it  that  you  had  hoped  to  do  in 
Sidon?  "  she  asked  quickly. 

He  was  surprised  by  the  new  alertness  of  her  tone, 
and  faced  about  more  directly  as  he  answered,  "  Why, 
mission  work  among  the  mill  people,  of  course.  There 
is  crying  need  of  it." 

Her  look  of  shrinking  almost  trenched  upon  aver- 
sion. "  Oh,  you  wanted  to  take  up  that  question," 
she  breathed.  "  And  you  have  not  done  so,  —  not  at 
all?" 

"  I  have  not,"  said  the  old  man  somewhat  curtly. 
"  On  arrival  it  was  intimated  to  me,  —  to  be  more 
accurate,  —  it  was  laid  before  me  as  an  ultimatum, 
that  I  was  not  to  touch,  in  my  sermons,  upon  prob- 
lems of  capital  and  labor,  nor  concern  myself,  too 
deeply,  with  the  conditions  of  mill  villages.  I  re- 
gret to  say  that  your  husband's  predecessor,  Mr. 
Brattle,  was  one  who  expressed  his  views  most 
strongly." 

Was  it  imagination,  or  had  the  tension  of  Maris' 


36  RED  HORSE  HILL 

face  relaxed,  and  did  she  strive  to  hide  a  look  of 
deep  relief? 

Always  intuitive,  she  felt  the  dawning  of  this  doubt 
in  him,  and,  speaking  quickly,  said,  "  Perhaps  they 
believed  that  you  couldn't  understand  about  such 
things  all  at  once.  That  is  the  way  my  husband 
thinks  of  it.  He  says  that  no  one  ought  to  give  opin- 
ions without  having  lived  here  for  a  long  time,  and 
having  had  a  chance  to  see  both  sides  of  the  case." 

"  I  am  surprised  at  such  words  from  you,  Maris," 
said  Dr.  Singleterry.  "  There  are  no  '  sides  '  as  you 
call  it  to  want,  and  misery  and  sin.  I  have  refrained, 
heretofore,  from  preaching  on  forbidden  topics,  just 
for  the  reasons  that  your  husband  urges;  as  for 
the  other  embargo,  —  no  smooth,  smiling  mill-owner, 
—  no,  and  no  church-full  of  mill-owners,  can  keep  me 
from  visiting  God's  poor!  I  go  among  the  villagers 
as  I  choose,"  his  voice  now  rang  with  energy  and  in- 
dignation. "  A  few  of  them  make  an  attempt  at 
cleanliness  and  decency,  —  but  with  others,  —  and 
the  Regina  village  among  these  latter,  —  if  ever  there 
was  a  hideous  ulcer  sore  in  the  side  of  humanity,  it 
is  just  such  a  spot  as  that!  I  know  what  I  am  talking 
of  —  " 

Maris  interrupted  by  a  low  cry,  and  flung  an  im- 
ploring hand  out  toward  him.  "  Don't  tell  me.  I 
cannot  bear  it.  You  will  begin  to  speak  next  of  the 
little  children.  That  is  what  I  cannot  endure !  Noth- 
ing can  help  them  - 

It  was  the  minister's  time  to  interrupt.  "  Noth- 
ing can  be  done  to  help  so  long  as  personal  cow- 
ardice keeps  sympathy  away  from  them,  and  can- 
not bear  to  hear  even  the  true  story  of  their 
wrongs!  " 

"  It  is  not  with  me  as  with  other  women,"  moaned 
Maris.  "  You  know  it  is  not.  In  every  wretched 


THE  DEVIL'S  QUADRILLE  37 

mill-child  I  see  Felicia,  —  the  suffering  of  those  chil- 
dren is  her  suffering." 

"  For  her  sake  you  should  spend  your  life  trying  to 
lighten  theirs." 

Maris  kept  for  an  instant  longer  her  cowering 
attitude;  then  she  sat  upright,  a  challenge  on  her 
lips,  "  You  call  me  cowardly.  I  have  a  reason,  — • 
a  terrible  reason  for  my  cowardice.  You  have  no 
reason,  and  yet  you  have  admitted  that  you  do  not 
preach  against  their  wrongs." 

The  old  man's  eyes  took  fire.  "  I  said,"  he  cor- 
rected, "  that  heretofore  I  have  been  dumb,  not  from 
a  servile  fear  of  the  wealthy  evil  doers  of  my  con- 
gregation, but  that  I  might  be  certain  of  my  facts. 
Do  you  dream  I  have  been  inactive  all  these 
months?  No,  I  have  studied,  investigated,  thought, 
and  prayed.  The  time  is  near  for  me  to  speak.  Keep 
silence!  — I?" 

His  eyes  had  darkened  and  then  filled,  again, 
with  light.  He  raised  his  hand  to  push  back,  im- 
patiently, the  white  locks  on  his  forehead.  The  wide 
felt  hat,  for  once  forgotten,  lay  on  the  floor.  His 
face  was  stern,  yet  transfigured  and  illuminated 
with  an  inner  glory.  So,  Maris  thought,  might  have 
looked  the  angel  at  the  gate  of  Paradise.  "  Some  day 
I  shall  speak,  and  when  I  do,  my  congregation  will 
listen."  Suddenly  he  stood  up,  made  a  wide,  dra- 
matic gesture,  and  repeated,  "  And  when  I  do,  my 
congregation,  —  it  will  listen!  " 

Maris  felt  faint.  A  chill,  prophetic  wind  blew  on  her 
lids.  It  was  not  her  place  to  argue  or  oppose.  She, 
too,  got  to  her  feet,  grasping  the  edge  of  the  mantel 
for  support. 

The  old  man  leaned  toward  her,  his  stern  look 
melting  into  a  smile.  "  Don't  be  so  frightened,  child. 
It  is  all  to  come  about  just  as  God  wills;  even,  in  his 


38  RED  HORSE  HILL 

good  time,  to  tidings  of  the  small,  lost  lamb, 
Felicia.  And  while  I  think  of  it,  there  is  just  one 
more  point  I  wish  to  ask,  concerning  her.  May  I 
speak  it?  " 

Maris  could  only  bow  in  assent. 

The  old  man  drew  her  fingers  from  the  mantel  shelf, 
and  held  them  closely  as  he  questioned,  "  Does  your 
good  husband,  Mr.  Alden,  feel  with  you,  that  the  little 
one  still  lives?  " 

The  small  hand  within  his  own  slowly  turned  to 
ice.  The  white,  frozen  look  grew  on  her  face  and 
spread  even  to  her  staring  eyes.  She  did  not  try  to 
speak. 

"  Maris ! "  he  cried  in  fear.  "  Don't  look  so  strangely. 
What  have  I  done?  Was  it  wrong  to  ask  you?  " 

"  No,  —  not  wrong,"  her  stiffened  lips  got  out. 

"  What  is  it,  then?  " 

"  My  husband  —  does  not  —  know  —  of  Felicia." 
It  was  a  soulless  automaton  that  spoke  the  words. 

A  sort  of  slow  horror  grew  in  the  eyes  that  watched 
her. 

"  Your  former  marriage,  —  what  does  he  know  of 
that?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"  You  worked  in  his  office  and,  later,  married 
him  under  your  maiden  name  of  Maris  Brue?  " 

"  Yes,  —  Maris  Brue." 

The  minister's  fine  face  grew  sharp.  An  expression 
of  contempt  dawned  on  his  lips  as  he  said,  coldly, 
"  I  begin  to  understand  why  you  wished  no  intercourse 
with  Orbury."  Then,  as  she  did  not  answer,  he 
changed  suddenly,  flung  her  small  hand  away  from 
him,  and  cried  aloud,  in  bitterness,  "  O  Maris,  — 
Maris,  —  will  you  forever  wreck  the  best  in  you,  - 
poor  blind,  unthinking,  reckless  child!  Can  you  not 
see  that  for  the  sake  of  prudence,  if  for  no  higher 


THE  DEVIL'S  QUADRILLE  39 

reason,  you  should  have  told  Mr.  Alden  everything, 
—  everything!  " 

''  I  can  see,  at  least,  how  it  appears  to  you,"  the 
automaton  assured  him.  "  But  of  course  you  can 
have  no  idea  of  the  steps  that  led  up  to  it;  or  the 
peculiar  situation  I  was  in  just  at  the  moment.  When 
I  first  went  to  New  York  I  had  decided  not  to  use 
James  Martin's  name.  I  still  think  it  was  best.  As 
to  Mr.  Alden's  love,  —  "  Here  her  voice  became, 
again,  that  of  a  suffering  human  creature,  so  that  she 
had  to  pause  and  steady  it.  "  It  came  upon  me  as  a 
great,  a  wonderful  surprise." 

The  listener's  face  did  not  relax  its  sternness.  "  You 
mean  me  to  believe,  knowing  you  as  well  as  I  do, 
that  you  were  unconscious  of  this  man's  interest 
until  he  spoke?  " 

Maris  flushed  under  the  taunt.  "  Not  exactly 
that.  I  had  been  conscious  of  his  kindly  interest,  but 
until  he  spoke  I  had  not  believed  that  he  would  ask 
me  to  be  his  wife." 

The  minister  pondered  these  words  thoughtfully; 
upon  which  Maris,  as  if  to  change  the  course  of  his 
reflections,  went  on  more  lightly. 

"  There  was  another  man  at  the  time,  too;  a  young 
doctor,  house-physician  at  the  hospital  where  I  was 
ill.  I  knew  from  the  first  moment  that  he  had  begun 
to  care  for  me;  and  when  the  news  of  Martin's  death 
came,  I  was  so  weary  with  the  struggle  of  it  all,  so  sick 
in  mind  and  body,  and  so  relieved  that  I  was  free,  I 
had  almost  decided  to  marry  the  boy  doctor  when  he 
should  ask  me.  You  see,"  she  supplemented,  after 
a  moment  of  uncomfortable  silence,  "  all  my  shallow- 
ness  is  spread  out  before  you." 

"  Then,  in  the  hospital,  Mr.  Alden  addressed  you?  " 

Maris'  lips  twitched  at  the  old-fashioned  phrase. 
She  drooped  her  lids  to  hide  the  shining  of  her  eyes, 


40  RED  HORSE  HILL 

and  answered,  "  Yes,  —  and,  just  at  such  a  time,  it 
was  as  if  the  Sun  god  stooped  to  pick  up  a  trampled 
weed.  I  had  admired  him  more  than  any  man  I  had 
ever  met.  Because  I  had  thought  Martin  still  alive, 
I  had  tried  to  fight  back  more  personal  thoughts. 
But  when  he  said  he  loved  me,"  here  she  turned  away, 
drawing  a  long,  tremulous  breath,  "  I  knew  well  how 
it  had  been  with  me  all  along.  The  future  opened 
before  me  like  a  new  paradise.  I  could  not,  —  oh,  I 
could  not  risk  losing  so  very  much  by  speaking  of  a 
past  in  which  I  had,  after  all,  done  no  wrong." 

The  minister  shook  his  head.  "  You  did  actual 
and  definite  wrong  at  that  moment  by  deceiving  a 
man  who  loved  and  trusted  you.  A  falsehood  of  this 
kind  bears  a  winged  seed.  Your  day  of  reckoning 
must  come,  Maris." 

Her  face,  so  tenderly  bright  an  instant  earlier, 
clouded  now  with .  a  sullen  frown.  "  I  suppose  it 
will,"  she  said.  "  But  until  it  does  come  I  shall  go 
on  as  I  am  going." 

He  sighed,  baffled  by  her  dull  obstinacy.  "  You 
say  that  you  love  your  husband,  and  he  cares  ten- 
derly for  you?  " 

"  What  of  it?  "  asked  the  woman. 

"  Is  his  love,  then,  not  strong  enough  to  bear  the 
test  of  your  disclosures?  " 

"  He  might  possibly  have  overlooked  it  before 
our  marriage,  though  he  is  a  proud  man,  and  narrow 
in  certain  lines.  I  do  not  think  he  would  ever  for- 
give me  now.  He  hates  treachery  above  all  things. 
He  ought  not  to  forgive  me." 

'''  Yet  you  go  on  living,  knowing  each  day  to  be  a 
separate  treachery." 

'  Yes,  —  and  hoarding  each  day  separately,  as  a 
miser  hoards  a  golden  coin.  Sometimes,  at  night, 
when  he  is  sleeping  I  lie  still  and  whisper  to  myself, 


THE  DEVIL'S  QUADRILLE  41 

'  I  have  had  one  more  day  of  love.    Nothing  —  nothing 

—  can  take  from  me  what  I  have  already  had!'; 
"Unhappy  and  self-deluded  woman!"   he  cried. 

"  You  have  no  right  even  to  one  golden  day.  Each  is 
a  stolen  coin,  and  each  will  claim  its  punishment." 

"  Let  it  come,"  she  said.  "  I  shall  not  hasten  it, 
you  may  be  sure." 

"  Maris,  my  poor  child,  my  poor,  wilful  child,  for 
your  own  soul's  sake,  go  to  your  husband  now,  — 
this  hour,  —  making  a  full  confession.  Let  me  go 
with  you,  —  or  speak  to  him  in  your  behalf." 

"No,  —  no, — don't  you  dare!"  she  cried  out 
as  if  hi  terror.  Then  more  soberly,  "  You  must  not 
go  to  him.  You  have  done  your  duty  in  advising  me, 

—  but  cowardice,  —  or  madness,  —  perhaps  both,  - 
make  me  deaf  to  your  words.    No,  Dr.  Singleterry,  I 
must,  as  the  Scotch  say,  dree  my  own  weird.    I'll  hold 
to  this  one  happiness  until  fate  comes  and  takes  it 
from  me.     Oh,  I  know  that  retribution  is  on  the  way. 
Sometimes  I  am  a  Daphne  in  her  imprisoning  tree,  and 
I  feel  the  stiff  bark  spreading  upward  over  my  heart 
and  lips." 

"  Well,  let  me  leave  you,"  said  the  minister,  "  I 
can  do  no  more  for  your  rebellious  spirit.  Think 
over  what  I  have  said,  and  perhaps,  with  God's  grace, 
you  may  be  softened." 

He  stooped  for  his  fallen  hat,  and  without  further 
attempt  at  farewell,  turned  and  walked  toward  the 
door,  Maris  following  him.  "  Do  you  feel,"  she  began 
timidly,  "  that  I  am  such  a  wicked  woman  you  don't 
want  me  to  come  to  your  church  any  more?  " 

He  turned  back  to  her  with  a  smile  so  full  of  sadness, 
yet  of  pity,  that  her  eyes  filled.  "  Poor  little  Maris," 
he  said.  "  You  are  not  so  wicked,  as  only  very  blind 
and  foolish.  Come  to  me  freely.  I  shall  always  count 
it  a  privilege  to  be  sought  by  you,  and  will  advise 


42  RED  HORSE  HILL 

you  to  the  very  best  of  my  experience.  God  be  with 
you,  my  poor  child." 

She  grasped  the  hand  held  out  to  her.  "  Oh,  I  am 
glad  that  you  are  here.  I  feel  safer,  somehow. 
Perhaps  with  you  to  help  me  —  "  The  last  words 
died  on  her  lips.  He  saw  her  eyes  stare  past  him 
toward  the  street,  distend,  and  then  shrink  as  if 
from  a  terrible  vision.  They  stood  directly  within 
the  entrance  door.  Her  hands  fell  from  his  and  she 
cowered  back,  pointing,  and  asking,  in  a  hoarse 
undertone,  —  "  Those  children,  —  Oh,  can  they  be 
really  children?  They  are  stopping." 

He  glanced  over  his  shoulder.  "  Why,  that's  only 
a  handful  of  the  mill  children,"  he  said.  "  Have 
you  seen  none  before?  They  have  stopped  to  admire 
the  house." 

"  Let  them  look,"  she  panted.  "  But  I  cannot 
stop  to  see  them.  Those  are  not  children,  —  they  are 
little  ghosts  of  children  already  dead.  I  did  not 
know  that  in  the  world  there  were  such  children.  I 
must  go."  She  vanished  into  the  shadow  of  the  hall, 
and  he  heard  the  sound  of  frantic  feet  running  up  the 
stairway.  Then  a  chamber  door  was  shut  with  such 
violence  that  the  house  reverberated.  Afterward  a 
great  silence  came. 

The  little  girls,  fifteen  or  more  in  number,  had 
stopped  to  gaze  in,  open-mouthed,  at  the  lady  who 
was  acting  so  strangely.  As  she  vanished,  all  the 
faded  eyes  were  fixed  on  Dr.  Singleterry,  now  moving 
slowly  down  the  cemented  path  toward  them.  At 
first  it  seemed  that  they  would  scatter,  like  a  group 
of  frightened  animals,  but,  reassured  by  the  gentle- 
ness of  his  face  and  manner,  they  stood  still,  watching 
his  approach. 

All  were  small  and  thin.  The  head  of  one  girl  rose 
a  few  inches  above  the  rest,  and  it  could  be  seen 


THE  DEVIL'S  QUADRILLE  43 

that  she  was  the  dominant  spirit  of  the  little  flock.  All 
were  attired  in  scanty  garments  (the  waist  and  skirt 
being  sewed  together)  of  faded  blue  denim,  or  un- 
bleached cotton  stuff,  and  many  were  barefoot  in  the 
chill  March  wind.  Those  wearing  shoes  had  on, 
apparently,  mismated  pairs  from  cast-off  wardrobes 
of  their  elders,  and  stockings  so  full  of  holes  that  they 
seemed  covered  with  pale  yellow  polka-dots.  In 
spite  of  apparent  fragility  the  children  all  had  a  cer- 
tain air  of  alertness,  a  vivacity  and  jerkiness  as  of 
marionettes.  Their  eyes  were  never  still.  The  glances 
ran  ceaselessly  from  point  to  point  of  the  house,  then 
to  the  advancing  Dr.  Singleterry,  then  back  to  the 
house  again.  The  mouths  of  all  were  discolored  with 
snuff,  and  many  had  snuff-sticks  of  blue-gum  wood 
between  their  teeth. 

The  minister  tried  to  smile  at  them  as  he  would 
at  other  children.  He  was  casting  about  in  his  mind 
for  something  to  say  when  the  tallest  girl,  lifting 
a  hand  on  which  two  fingers  were  missing,  pointed 
toward  the  house  as  best  she  could,  and  demanded, 
"  Say,  Mister!  Is  dat  de  house  of  de  Reginy  mill 
boss?  " 

"  Yes,  that  is  now  the  home  of  Mr.  Alden  of  New 
York.  It  was  built  by  Mr.  Brattle,  who  died.  Do 
you  think  it  a  handsome  house?  " 

Minnie  paused.  It  was  not  well  to  encourage  these 
oppressors,  these  aristocrats,  with  too  much  praise. 
"  Hit'll  do  all  right,  I  reckon,"  she  said,  with  impu- 
dent assurance.  This  reply  threw  her  companions 
into  fits  of  merriment,  or  rather,  into  the  travesty 
of  mirth.  They  turned  away  their  faces,  half  shielding 
them  with  scrawny  hands,  giggled,  shrugged  shoulders 
high,  and  exchanged  glances  of  delight  at  Minnie's 
wit  and  daring.  The  minister's  embarrassment  gave 
fuel  to  their  enjoyment. 


44  RED  HORSE  HILL 

The  only  one  who  did  not  laugh  was  a  very  little 
girl  whose  hair  was  dark,  even  under  its  covering 
of  cotton  lint,  and  whose  large,  solemn  eyes  had  never 
left  the  marble  portico  and  cut  glass  doorways  of  the 
house. 

"  I  think  it's  er  es-<?ms-ite  house,  I  do,"  she  de- 
clared. "  Hit  looks  like  heavun  to  me! " 

Dr.  Singleterry,  marking  her  for  the  first  time, 
stepped  a  little  eagerly  in  that  direction,  his  face 
brightening.  But  here  the  valiant  leader  interposed. 
Heartened  by  victory  she  ventured  a  more  dizzy 
flight.  "  Listen  at  dat  kid! "  she  cried,  tossing  her 
head  in  scorn.  "  Talkin'  erbout  heavun.  Dey  ain't 
no  heaven.  Hit's  all  lies,  made  up  so's  you'll  wanter 
git  thar,  an'  put  money  in  de  church-plate  ter  do  it. 
Dey  don't  git  none  er  my  money! " 

As  she  spoke  she  had  taken  care,  for  all  her  doughti- 
ness, to  move  backward  out  of  the  reach  of  Dr. 
Singleterry's  arm.  Now  at  a  safe  distance  she  paused, 
and  glanced  defiantly  upward.  The  old  man  felt 
no  anger,  only  a  sense  of  hopelessness  so  profound 
that  it  seemed  to  enclose  him  in  a  night  which  others 
could  not  see.  His  kind  face  was  emptied  of  all 
expressions  but  that  of  pain.  He  stood,  staring  at 
the  group  of  children,  wondering  whether,  as  Maris 
had  wondered,  they  could  be  real  children,  or  mere 
phantasmagoria  that  mocked  at  youth  and  joy. 
They  did  not  have  the  look  of  human  beings,  rather 
of  pale,  sunless  elves  from  an  under-world,  —  small, 
elemental  beings  who  had  not  yet  reached  the  plane 
of  human  incarnation. 

The  arguments  of  his  vestrymen  came  whispering 
back  to  him.  What  was  the  use  of  trying  to  lift  a 
weight  of  ignorance  like  this?  One  would  merely 
bruise  his  own  heart  to  death,  and  from  its  essence 
have  not  caught  one  permanent  drop  of  good.  The 


THE  DEVIL'S  QUADRILLE  45 

mill  in  which  these  children  worked  was  but  one  of 
countless  hundreds.  When  it  was  not  the  whir- 
ring looms  and  shrieking  spool-frames  that  claimed 
them,  there  were  forms  of  bondage  equally  severe. 
Glass  factories,  canneries,  coal  mines,  —  busied  in 
North,  and  South,  East  and  West,  —  all  servile  to 
abuse,  —  each  in  its  own  way  a  destroyer  of  the 
better  part  of  life,  which  is  one's  childhood. 

Minnie,  the  leader,  after  a  moment  more  of  poised 
defiance,  and  evidently  chagrined  that  her  flint  had 
found  no  steel,  gathered  her  followers  by  a  peremptory 
sweep  of  the  eyes,  and  gave  a  curt  signal  for  departure. 
But  the  old  man  checked  her,  feeling  that  he  must 
say  something  to  establish  ordinary  human  inter- 
course, "  How  is  it  that  you  little  girls  are  out  of  the 
mill  on  a  Monday  forenoon?  "  he  asked. 

"  Boiler's  busted,  God  be  praised,"  responded 
Minnie,  briefly.  She  paused,  and  gave  a  sort  of  elfin 
grin.  Something  in  the  rhythm  of  the  words  attracted 
her.  "  Boiler's  busted,  God  be  praised,"  she  repeated, 
on  a  higher  key.  As  she  spoke  the  words,  she  took 
a  little,  dancing,  sidewise  step.  She  threw  back  her 
head  and  laughed  discordantly.  "  Ef  it  warn't  fer 
de  good  ole  boiler  we'd  be  dancin'  now,  you  bet,  — 
dancin'  de  Devil's  Quadrille.  Come  on,  kids!  De  ole 
gent  never  danced  dat  dance.  Let's  show  him  a  figger 
uv  de  Devil's  Quadrille! " 

With  a  dramatic  force  as  strong  as  it  was  repellent, 
Minnie  threw  herself  into  the  part  of  a  "  spooler," 
her  eyes  shifting  incessantly  from  part  to  part  of  the 
long,  imaginary  "  side  "  where  the  reels  revolve,  her 
thin  legs  leaping  from  right  to  left,  now  an  inch 
backward,  now  an  inch  forward,  as  she  leaned  over 
the  frame,  the  claw  of  her  upraised  hand  ready  for 
its  predatory  downward  swoop  on  the  first  broken 
skein. 


46  RED  HORSE  HILL 

The  other  children,  following  with  marvellous 
quickness,  ranged  themselves  back  to  back,  facing 
two  long,  imaginary  "  sides,"  set  in  a  space  too  narrow. 
"  Bur-r-ruh!  Wheeze-eeeze-eeze !  "  began  Minnie,  in 
imitation  of  the  buzz  of  wheels,  the  multitudinous 
whine  of  myriad  twisting  strands.  "  You  start  up 
de  clatterin'  down  dare,  Bessie  Peters,  —  you  an' 
Beck  Jones,"  commanded  she.  Delighted  to  obey, 
they  raised  shrill  voices.  Now  all  were  at  the  new, 
exciting  game.  The  noise  grew  louder,  the  twitch- 
ing motions  of  the  dancers  more  exaggerated.  At  the 
far  end  the  littlest  girl  danced  like  a  loosened  nerve 
of  energy,  her  dark  eyes  bright  with  the  fun. 

The  minister  stood  as  one  paralyzed.  Slow  tears 
stole  out  unheeded  to  find  the  silver  furrows  of  his 
face. 

A  sudden  terror  flashed  upon  him.  What  if  Maris, 
already  excited  and  unnerved  by  their  interview, 
were  gazing  upon  this  terrible  scene.  He  wheeled 
toward  the  house.  At  the  window  of  an  upper  room 
he  saw  a  face  which  seemed  the  face  of  a  corpse, 
pressed  close  against  the  pane. 

At  his  low  cry  the  children  looked,  following  his 
upward  gaze.  A  panic  seized  them.  Screaming, 
they  broke  into  groups,  racing  down  the  hill. 

For  a  moment  longer  the  minister  stood.  From 
the  window  the  dead  face  had  vanished.  The  children 
having  reached  the  bottom  of  the  hill,  paused  to  send 
back  to  him  gestures  of  mockery,  and  a  thin,  high 
chorus  of  uncanny  laughter. 

"  Father  in  heaven,"  he  whispered  as  well  as  he 
could  for  shaking  lips,  "  have  mercy  on  all  Thy 
children." 


CHAPTER   FOUR 

RUTH   ARRIVES 

BY  the  end  of  the  week  the  enchanting  glimpse 
of  Spring  vouchsafed  by  March  upon  her  natal  day 
was  blotted  out  by  mists  and  fine,  dispiriting  rains. 
The  alleys  and  narrow  lateral  streets  of  Sidon  were 
changed  into  canals  of  crimson  mud,  and  work,  just 
begun,  upon  the  Alden  garden  came  to  a  standstill. 
More  than  once  Maris  threatened  to  telegraph  her 
sister-in-law  not  to  start  south  while  the  hideous 
weather  lasted,  but  Mr.  Alden  merely  laughed,  re- 
minding her  that  Ruth  was  an  incipient  "  new 
woman,"  impregnable  to  external  conditions. 

The  truth  of  his  statement  was  soon  verified.  Ruth 
arrived  on  the  appointed  day,  Friday,  —  as  cheerful, 
neat  and  undisturbed  as  if  the  sodden  skies  were 
raining  light.  The  well-fitting,  gray  cravenette  cloak 
she  wore,  and  the  small  gray  hat  with  a  white  wing 
at  the  side,  might  indeed  have  been  selected  as  an 
artistic  accompaniment  to  the  gray  day  which  every- 
where spread  wide  over  a  red-brown  earth.  Out  of 
the  low-toned  setting  the  girl's  face  gleamed  like  a 
flower,  so  that  to  Maris'  quick  imagination  it  brought 
the  image  of  a  mayflower  in  its  loosening  sheath. 

Maris  had  not  driven  to  the  station,  the  one 
closed  coup6  being  no  more  than  sufficient  for  Dwight 
and  Ruth,  and  what  hand  luggage  the  latter  might 
have  brought;  but  for  ten  minutes  before  the  arrival 
she  had  been  hovering  about  the  porte-cochere, 
ready  to  give  welcome.  With  a  little  cry  of  pleasure 


48  RED  HORSE  HILL 

she  now  rushed  to  the  carriage  door,  tugging  at  it 
with  both  hands  and  crying,  "  So  here  you  really  are! 
And  how  dare  you  look  so  pretty  on  a  day  like  this?  " 

Ruth  smiled  politely.  A  single  touch  of  her  firm, 
gloved  hand  had  released  the  door.  Maris  was  ready 
with  outstretched  arms,  but  the  other,  swerving 
ever  so  slightly  to  one  side,  remarked,  "  You've 
absolutely  ruined  your  gown  upon  the  carriage 
wheel."  * 

Maris  looked  down,  then  held  the  folds  up  ruefully. 
There  was  a  huge  red  scar,  the  shape  of  a  rainbow, 
running  from  hip  to  ankle.  "  My  prettiest  and  new- 
est tea-gown!  I  had  just  put  it  on  for  you,  Ruth!  " 

She  stood  still,  gazing  at  the  tragedy.  Ruth  had 
run  lightly  up  the  few  marble  steps  to  the  portico, 
and  now  her  brother,  getting  from  the  carriage,  took 
Maris'  arm.  "  Never  mind  the  dress,"  he  said.  "  Let 
us  get  into  the  house  where  it  is  warm.  Ugh!  This 
dampness  chills  one's  marrow!" 

"  Here  comes  Archer.  You  take  Ruth  in,  I'll 
follow.  I  want  to  see  that  he  gets  all  the  bags  out 
of  the  carriage."  After  an  instant  of  hesitation  Alden 
obeyed.  He  did  not  offer  to  take  Ruth's  arm.  A 
decorous  brother-and-sister  kiss  had  been  exchanged 
at  the  station,  which  would  suffice  them  both  until 
a  parting  came.  Ruth  walked  beside  his  tall  form, 
casting  quick,  intelligent  glances  at  the  house.  Now 
it  was  the  four  great  monoliths  which  she  sur- 
veyed, now  the  proportions  and  the  setting  of  the 
door. 

"  Well,  what  is  your  dictum? "  asked  Dwight, 
much  amused  by  her  impersonal  interest. 

"  Pseudo-classic  of  an  extreme  kind,  and  that  cut 
glass  front  door  a  barbarity,"  she  said  in  clear, 
decisive  tones  as  though  addressing  a  class.  "  On 
the  other  hand  the  monoliths  are  almost  good.  I  am 


RUTH  ARRIVES  49 

glad  they  omitted  the  volutes.  It  is  always  more 
chaste  for  a  private  residence." 

They  turned  in  at  the  obnoxious  entrance.  Maris 
was  close  behind  them.  Again  Ruth  paused,  the 
group  of  necessity  pausing  with  her.  "  Ah,  a  marble 
finish  to  the  hallway,"  said  the  visitor.  "  Granite  or 
onyx  would  have  been  far  better.  For  interior  deco- 
ration that  milky  tone  of  marble  simply  cannot  be 
digested,  Dwight." 

Dwight  happened  to  catch  his  wife's  eyes  just  then, 
and  at  their  look  of  utter  bewilderment,  laughed  aloud. 
"  Neither,  I  should  infer,  are  your  present  remarks 
being  digested." 

Maris'  cheeks  burned.  She  felt  hot  and  shamed  that 
she  could  not  understand.  Alden  was  crossing  the 
hall  when  his  sister's  voice  checked  him.  "  Dwight, 
a  moment.  If  Maris  has  no  objection,  I  will  go  at 
once  to  my  room." 

"  Of  course,"  cried  Maris,  instantly.  "  Don't 
you  see,  Dwight,  that  she  has  on  rubbers  and  rain- 
coat? I'll  show  you  the  way,  Ruth.  Follow  me." 

The  light  was  coming  back  to  her  eyes.  Here,  at 
least,  they  were  on  common  ground,  and  she  was 
the  one  to  lead.  As  she  ran  up  the  marble  stairs  she 
kept  looking  backward,  with  little  smiles  and  nods 
of  welcome.  She  was  thinking  of  the  flowers,  of  the 
dainty  bits  of  lace,  ribbon  and  other  ornament  with 
which  she  had  decked  Ruth's  chamber.  Nearly  at 
the  top  she  leaned  over  to  call  down  to  her  husband, 
"  Don't  you  come  up,  Dwight.  I  want  to  show  it  to 
Ruth  all  by  myself." 

At  the  door  she  paused  for  Ruth  to  join  her.  Then, 
quite  dramatically,  she  flung  the  white  panel  wide. 

Ruth  walked  in  casually.  Her  face  did  not  change, 
and  she  made  no  remark,  though,  as  it  seemed  to 
Maris,  her  quick,  intelligent  eyes  saw  everything  at 


50  RED  HORSE  HILL 

once.  Now  she  was  looking,  more  minutely,  over 
the  tops  of  tables,  at  the  bedecked  dresser,  and  along 
the  mantel-shelf.  Maris  clasped  her  hands  in  excite- 
ment. Surely  the  girl  must  like  the  dainty  embroid- 
eries of  her  bureau  scarf  over  the  pale  blue  silk,  — 
the  pretty  pin-cushions,  the  pillows  in  the  window- 
seat,  the  great  square  cover  on  the  bed !  In  the  very 
centre  of  the  room,  on  a  small  glass  table,  stood  a 
blue  jardiniere  of  growing  hyacinths.  Maris  had 
taken  the  greatest  pains  to  secure  these  hyacinths, 
knowing  them  to  be  the  flowers  that  Northerners 
frequently  send  each  other. 

Ruth's  eyes  had  been  everywhere.  Now  they  came 
back  to  their  hostess,  still  unsatisfied.  "  Have  no 
letters  been  forwarded?  "  she  asked. 

"  Letters?  "  echoed  the  other.  "  Have  you  been 
looking  about  the  room  for  letters?  " 

"  Assuredly." 

For  an  instant  Maris  turned  her  face  away.  "  I 
think  I  heard  Dwight  say  that  something  had  come 
for  you.  But,  Ruth,  —  don't  you  like  your  room 
at  all?  " 

"  Of  course,  dear/'  said  Ruth  kindly.  As  if  recol- 
lecting a  forgotten  duty,  she  came  up  now,  to 
brush  Maris'  cheek  with  cool,  elastic  lips.  "It  is 
quite  charming  in  every  way,  though  entirely  too 
ornate  for  a  practical  person  like  myself."  Here  she 
touched  a  spike  of  hyacinth  which  seemed  to  spring 
back  indignantly  from  her  hand.  "  And,  really, 
I  must  ask  you  to  have  these  flowers  removed.  They 
are  extremely  unhygienic  in  a  sleeping  apartment." 

"  I  will  go  now  and  send  a  servant  up  at  once," 
said  Maris,  turning  away  hurriedly  that  she  might 
not  betray  the  quiver  on  her  lips.  "  Do  you  want 
your  letters  sent  up  at  the  same  time?  " 

"  If  you  will  be  so  good,"  answered  Ruth,  smiling 


RUTH  ARRIVES  51 

brightly.  "  After  a  cold  bath,  a  change,  and  a  glimpse 
at  my  letters  I'll  be  quite  fit  again." 

Maris  went  swiftly  from  the  room;  once  outside, 
she  walked  more  slowly,  her  head  bent  over.  In 
starting  down  the  stairway  she  caught  a  fresh  glimpse 
of  the  red  scar  on  her  gown,  and  saw  that  the  mud 
was  beginning  to  dry  in  patterns  like  the  square  mesh 
of  a  sieve.  She  went  into  her  chamber  for  a  clothes 
brush,  then  passed  out  through  her  dressing  room 
to  a  small,  private  upper  "  gallery  "  belonging  to  the 
suite,  that  the  red  dust  could  be  brushed  away. more 
easily.  The  outer  flakes  came  off,  but  she  soon  saw 
that  the  deeper  stain  could  not  be  removed  by  any 
simple  method,  perhaps  not  at  all.  It  was  a  charming 
house-gown  of  dull  gray  tissue  over  gray  silk,  the 
only  colors  being  a  little  hand  embroidery  of  copper, 
black  and  cream  at  throat  and  sleeves  and  around 
the  hem.  She  was  still  vexed  and  perturbed  that  she 
should  have  wrought  such  damage  by  her  carelessness, 
and,  incidentally,  have  fallen  a  notch  lower  in  her 
sister-in-law's  calm  eyes.  Though  really  Ruth's 
senior  by  several  years,  Maris  had  the  feeling,  in  her 
presence,  of  youthful  crudity  as  well  as  ignorance. 
She  sighed  now,  let  the  gray  folds  fall,  and  went  into 
her  dressing  room  to  replace  the  brush. 

She  did  not  ring  for  a  servant,  but  deciding  to  go 
in  person,  went  down  her  private  flight  of  stairs 
that  led  directly  to  the  lower  back  gallery  of  the 
main  floor,  and  thence  to  the  kitchen  and  the  ser- 
vants' quarters.  Before  she  was  half  way  down,  the 
sound  of  excited  voices  behind  the  closed  kitchen 
door  told  her  that  unusual  altercation  was  in  pro- 
gress. On  the  one  side  was  the  cook,  Aunt  Mandy, 
a  professed  "  'fo  de  Wah  nigger,"  intolerant  of 
modern  upstart  ways  amcng  her  kind,  —  on  the  other 
were  Archer,  a  society  leader  of  dusky  Sidon,  and  the 


52  RED  HORSE  HILL 

young  mulatto  girl,  Poline,  whose  term  at  the  famous 
"  cemetery  "  of  Mr.  Booker  Washington  gave  her  the 
right,  she  claimed,  to  expound  inflammatory  doctrines. 

Maris  could  not  hear  the  words  as  yet;  all  was  a 
blurred  confusion  of  rich,  throaty  voice.  Suddenly 
there  was  a  gasp,  a  silence,  the  sound  of  hurrying 
feet,  and  a  frightened  squeal  from  Poline.  Then  the 
deep  tones  of  Aunt  Mandy  boomed  forth.  "  Git  outer 
my  kitchen!  Git  outer  my  kitchen,  I  say,  or  stop 
talkin'  dat  circumgiverous  fool-talk.  Moses!  But 
it's  ernuff  to  giv'  a  lamper-eel  de  toof-ache." 

Poline  giggled  hysterically.  "  Ef  Aunt  Mandy 
don't  beat  all!  "  she  tittered. 

Maris  could  see  Archer's  back  against  a  nearer 
window,  and  beyond  the  fat  old  cook,  beside  the 
stove,  brandishing  a  huge  ladle  that  had  just  been 
taken  from  the  "  gumbo." 

"  Dey  ain't  no  need  fer  vi-lence,  Mi's  Blake  - 
Aunt  Mandy,  I  mean,"  protested  Archer,  correcting 
himself  hastily  as  the  ladle  made  a  belligerent  swoop 
in  his  direction.  "  But  you  mustn't  blind  yo'se'f 
to  de  facts  uv  de  truth,  dat  our  down-trod  race  mus' 
cling  together.  Sassieties,  —  Organizations,  —  Per- 
tective  Unions,  —  in  dem  is  our  trus' !  " 

"  Huh!  "  grunted  Aunt  Mandy,  leaning  to  stir  her 
soup.  "  De  ole  fashioned  buryin'  sassieties  is  all 
right.  We  all  knows  we  is  got  to  die,  and  we  all  hopes 
to  git  buried;  but  dese  here  new  f angled  pertective 
ones,  —  dey  ain't  wuth  er  pinch  er  snuff  to  er  grass- 
hopper. I  jined  dat  Roostervelt  Orchestration  when 
all  de  rucus  an'  hullabaloo  was  goin'  on;  and  de 
Walkin'  Delicate  got  mo'  money  outer  me  in  a  week 
dan  de  Assimilated  Daughters  uv  de  Shining  Doves 
has  collected  in  a  year.  An'  de  Doves  is  pledged  befo' 
de  Law  to  bury  me.  De  las'  one  on  'em  will  hab 
convulsions  on  my  grave  ef  I  asks  'em,  an'  de  loudes' 


RUTH  ARRIVES  53 

mouthed  preacher  in  de  county  is  already  hired  to 
preach  de  sermon.  What's  de  Roostervelts  gwinter 
do  fer  me,  livin'  or  dead?  " 

"  But,  my  deah  Mi's  Blake,  —  "  ventured  Poline. 

"  Aint  I  done  tole  you  to  stop  dat  fool  '  Mi's 
Blakin' '  me?  "  cried  Aunt  Mandy.  "  My  ole  Marster 
in  Virginny  was  named  Blake,  but  dat  don't  make  me 
no  Mi's  Blake." 

Here  Maris,  after  having  composed  her  face  as  best 
she  could,  opened  the  door. 

"  Good  Lord!  How  you  scairt  me,  Mi's  Alden," 
cried  Poline,  with  her  usual  affected  shriek. 

"  I  want  you  to  go  up  to  Miss  Ruth's  room  at  once," 
said  Maris,  "  and  bring  down  that  pot  of  hyacinths." 

"  Yes'm,  —  and  what  am  I  to  do  with  them?  " 
asked  the  girl  who  always  spoke  grammatically  when 
she  had  time  to  arrange  her  sentences. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Maris  wearily.  "  Perhaps 
you  would  like  to  have  them  in  your  room.  They  are 
very  pretty." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Poline,  very  correctly.  "  But 
they  are  not  healthy  in  a  bedroom." 

For  a  moment  the  mistress  was  dumb.  It  was  a 
relief  when  Aunt  Mandy,  taking  in  the  situation, 
said  eagerly,  "  You  mean  dem  sweet-smellin',  chunky 
flowers  in  er  blue  soup-tureen,  Mi's  Maris?  " 

"  Yes,  would  you  like  them?  " 

"  I  sho'  would,"  said  the  cook,  fervently.  "  I  only 
heard  dis  mornin'  dat  one  uv  de  Doves  was  took  down 
sudden  wid  sech  a  misery  in  de  bres'  dat  she  may  not 
las'  till  night.  Dem  flowers  would  sho'  make  dey 
mark  at  her  funeral!  " 

"  Accept  them  with  my  compliments,  Aunt 
Mandy,"  said  Maris. 

Poline  was  leaving  the  room.  In  passing  Archer, 
Maris  noticed  that  she  shot  toward  him  a  triumphant 


54  RED  HORSE  HILL 

glance.  Poline  evidently  felt  that  in  some  dim,  un- 
explained way,  she  had  gotten  a  rise  out  of  her  South- 
ern mistress.  When  she  was  completely  out  of  sight, 
Maris  turned  to  the  boy. 

"  Come  with  me,  Archer.  Mr.  Alden  has  some 
letters  for  his  sister.  I  want  you  to  take  them  up  to 
her." 

They  found  Mr.  Alden  in  the  drawing  room.  He 
was  in  his  favorite  chair,  and  had  just  begun  to  cut 
the  pages  of  a  new  magazine.  This  he  put  down,  to 
feel  about  in  his  pockets  for  letters.  There  was  one 
for  Ruth,  with  the  post-mark  "  Wellesley." 

"  Go  into  my  study  across  the  hall,"  he  said  to 
Archer.  "  There  is  a  larger  envelope  and  some  papers 
on  my  desk  for  Miss  Alden." 

When  Archer  had  gone  his  master  lifted  a  viva- 
cious face.  "  After  all,  it's  rather  jolly  to  have  Ruth 
here,  —  now  isn't  it?  "  he  said. 

"  Indeed  it  is,"  answered  Maris,  trying  her  best 
to  smile.  She  caught  her  under-lip  cruelly  between 
small,  white  teeth,  and  bent  over  toward  the  fire, 
pretending  that  one  of  the  andirons  needed  straight- 
ening. Quick  as  she  was,  her  husband  had  seen  her 
face  and  knew  that  something  was  wrong. 

"  My  darling  girl,  —  what  is  it?  "  he  cried,  in  con- 
sternation. 

"  Oh,  nothing,  —  nothing,  —  don't  notice  me,"  she 
whispered,  now  at  the  limit  of  self-control. 

,  "  Nonsense,  I  must  notice  it.  Something  has  hurt 
you."  He  would  have  risen,  but  she,  in  a  passion  of 
tears,  threw  herself  upon  his  breast,  pressing  her 
convulsed  face  against  him  until  it  was  physical  pain 
to  both,  yet  striving,  as  he  could  see,  at  every  instant, 
to  overcome  her  agitation.  In  vain  he  soothed,  com- 
forted and  questioned.  Out  of  her  disjointed  phrases 
he  could  catch  only  the  words, "  Love  me,  —  love  me, 


RUTH  ARRIVES  55 

—  love  me!  "  A  little  later,  when  the  first  paroxysm 
was  spent,  she  rose,  dragging  him  upward  with  her. 
"  Let's  go  up-stairs,  —  to  our  room.  And  please, 
don't  ever  —  ever  —  tell  Ruth  that  I  cried  like  this." 

Maris,  during  the  afternoon  of  that  day,  remained 
in  her  room.  After  an  hour  with  her,  Dwight  went 
into  the  "  city,"  where  he  had  promised  to  attend  an 
important  business  meeting;  and  Ruth,  more  than 
contented  to  have  the  long  afternoon  to  herself,  did 
not  appear  in  the  drawing  room  until  after  the  lights 
were  on.  She  had  changed  her  travelling  attire  for 
a  paler  gray  skirt,  plain,  but  of  perfect  fit  and  "hang," 
and  a  dainty  lingerie  waist,  the  thinness  of  which 
made  Maris  shiver.  Her  ruined  tea-gown  had  given 
place  to  a  Quaker-like  suit  of  brown. 

Dwight,  glancing  toward  her  with  some  appre- 
hension, (he  had  left  her  asleep  after  the  long  spell 
of  crying)  thought  he  had  never  seen  her  appear  more 
charming  or  more  self-possessed.  He  noticed,  too, 
that  Ruth  sent  her  sister-in-law  more  than  one  ap- 
proving glance. 

These  two,  hi  their  infrequent  meetings  in  the 
North,  had  been  little  more  than  strangers.  At  the 
time  of  her  brother's  somewhat  sudden  marriage, 
Ruth  had  been  abroad  with  a  party  of  friends,  and 
did  not  return  to  America  for  a  year.  Afterward, 
her  duties  at  school,  and  the  summer  visits  made 
among  her  friends  and  colleagues,  gave  plausible 
excuse  for  equally  brief  visits  to  her  brother's  home. 

Dwight  was  more  fond  and  proud  of  his  brilliant 
young  sister  than  he  realized.  As  for  Maris  she  had 
become  to  him,  a  passion,  —  a  joy,  —  an  ever- 
deepening  wonder.  That  these  two  beings,  each  so 
dear  to  him,  should  be  dear,  each  to  the  other,  became 
now,  quite  suddenly,  one  of  the  most  important 


56  RED  HORSE  HILL 

objects  in  life.  Chiefly  for  this  the  unusual  gentleness 
and  dignity  of  his  wife  delighted  him,  for  he  knew 
there  was  no  better  way  to  win  the  regard  of  Ruth. 

Through  that  day,  and  the  next  and  next,  Maris 
did  not  change.  Seldom  had  she  remained  one  woman 
for  so  long  a  time.  Hour  after  hour  she  would  sit 
near  the  two,  listening  to  discussions,  sometimes 
profound,  upon  those  questions  of  sociology,  of 
capital  and  labor  and  reform,  with  which  America 
is  now  vital.  She  saw  Dwight's  eyes  brighten  at 
certain  reminiscences  in  which  she,  his  wife,  could 
bear  no  part;  but  if  she  felt  chagrin,  betrayed  none. 
She  seemed  quite  humble,  grateful  for  the  scraps  of 
wisdom  which  fell  from  tables  so  much  more  abundant 
than  her  own. 

On  Sunday  morning  the  three  went  to  service  at 
"  St.  John's."  The  old  minister  noted  them  at  once, 
and  Maris  could  see  that  he  studied  the  face  of  her 
husband.  On  the  drive  home  Dwight  asked  his  sister 
how  she  liked  the  sermon.  Her  reply,  prompt  and 
decisive,  was  this,  "  Even  more  anaemic  than  the 
usual  run  of  sermons,  —  and  I  had  actually  expected 
something  real  to  issue  from  that  fine,  straight  old 
mouth." 

"  He  is  an  ornament  in  the  pulpit,  that's  sure,"  said 
Dwight.  ' '  Perhaps  it  was  the  chief  reason  he  was  called 
here.  I  fancy  they  don't  want  any  militant  Christianity 
so  near  the  mills.  By  the  way,  he  is  a  friend  of  Maris. 
He  called  here  earlier  in  the  week.  How  did  you  like 
him,  dear?  Is  he  any  more  impressive  on  the  social 
plane?  " 

Maris  answered  rather  slowly:  "  He  is  old,  and  he 
is  tired  of  being  hurt.  That's  why  he  seems  so  color- 
less." 

"  Fancy !  How  interesting,"  said  Ruth.  The  stilted 
phrase  was  meant  sincerely.  She  turned  her  quick, 


RUTH  ARRIVES  57 

intelligent  eyes  to  Mans.  "  Do  you  know,  I  felt 
something  of  the  kind  by  instinct.  While  he  was 
drawling  out  those  doctrinal  platitudes,  I  said  to 
myself:  '  That  is  not  the  real  man  speaking.  Either 
he  is  self-exhausted,  or,  for  some  reason,  cannot 
speak  freely.  Do  you  suppose  it  can  be  the  latter?  '  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  that,"  said  Maris,  hi  a  colorless 
voice.  Ruth's  eyes  went,  questioning,  to  her  brother, 
but  he,  likewise,  could  give  no  reply. 

"  It  is  quite  generally  believed,  in  the  North,"  the 
girl  went  on,  "  that  in  these  prosperous  mill  towns,  the 
clergy  do  not  dare  to  attack  existing  evils.  In  fact, 
they  are  forbidden  to  by  their  rich  vestry  and  pew- 
holders." 

"  I  don't  know  a  thing  about  it,"  said  Maris,  still 
more  inanely.  Yet  it  was  evident  that  neither  she 
nor  Mr.  Alden  was  quite  at  ease.  Ruth's  dainty  nose 
went  up  in  the  air.  "  If  such  a  thing  is  true,  —  think 
what  a  cad  the  complacent  minister  must  be!  " 

All  were  relieved  to  find  themselves,  at  this  moment, 
under  the  porte-cochere.  At  luncheon  Dwight  took 
the  lead  in  conversation,  and  afterward  went  off  to 
his  study  for  a  smoke.  The  two  young  women  were 
left  to  entertain  themselves  as  they  could,  in  the 
big  drawing-room.  Their  methods  of  accomplishing 
this  were  characteristic.  Ruth  went  to  the  pretty 
writing  desk  in  a  sheltered  corner,  and  began  the 
writing  of  countless  letters;  Maris,  in  a  deep  chair 
by  the  fire,  lay  back,  quite  idly,  staring  at  the  coals 
and  dreaming. 

The  heavy  gray  pall  of  clouds  still  wrapped  a  dis- 
couraged world,  but,  toward  sunset,  a  peculiar  light, 
creeping  in  through  the  translucent  curtains,  drew 
Maris  to  her  feet.  By  this  time,  Dwight  had  rejoined 
them,  and  was  sitting  near  his  wife. 

Maris  hurried  to  a  window  facing  the  west,  threw 


58  RED  HORSE  HILL 

aside  the  curtains  with  an  impatient  hand,  and  pushed 
up  the  window  sash.  "  It's  really  clearing  off.  Oh, 
come!  See  how  the  sun  is  fighting  these  last  clouds!  " 

The  others  joined  her,  and  Ruth,  after  a  little  gasp 
of  delight,  ran  out  through  the  front  door,  and  down 
to  the  lowest  marble  step.  Both  wind  and  rain  were 
gone.  To  west  and  south  and  east  could  be  seen, 
in  a  single  sweep  of  the  eye,  the  splendid  panorama  of 
the  sunset.  Far  to  the  west,  where  a  succession  of 
low  hills  led  into  purpling  distance,  the  great  sun, 
subdued  so  long,  was  in  a  death-grapple  with  dark, 
elemental  shapes.  Rolling  and  twisting  in  the  heav- 
ens, now  blackness  and  now  fiery,  molten  light  was 
uppermost.  Directly  over  the  battle,  a  flying  scud 
of  clouds,  like  a  fleeing  army,  hurried  to  right  and 
left;  and  where  they  had  been,  the  sky-field  showed 
like  a  floor  of  gentian  blue.  Off  to  the  east,  the 
hump  of  Red  Horse  Hill  gleamed,  a  single  garnet 
under  the  long  rays  of  the  sun,  while  back  of  it, 
beyond  the  bristling  mane  of  trees,  the  sky  had 
changed  into  a  luminous  chrysophrase. 

"  And  yet  we  are  told  that  the  impressionists 
exaggerate,"  said  Ruth  to  her  brother,  who  now  stood 
near.  "  Dwight,  suppose  you  wanted  to  paint  that 
green  slab  of  sky,  —  what  colors  would  you  choose?  " 

"  Absinthe,  and  verdigris,  and  powdered  opals," 
replied  Dwight  instantly,  "  But  then,  you  know,  I 
wouldn't  ever  be  such  an  ass  as  to  try." 

"  Ah,  the  sun  has  won,"  Maris  was  saying,  half  to 
herself.  "  See  the  last  cloud  go  creeping  down  the 
hill.  Now  we  shall  have  the  beautiful  days  again." 


CHAPTER   FIVE 

THE    FLOWERS   THAT   WERE   NOT   GATHERED 

MARIS'  prophecy  was  verified,  next  morning,  by  a 
day,  twin  sister  to  that  perfect  first  of  March,  a  week 
before.  The  lurking  shadows  in  the  great  Brattle 
mansion  were  drawn  out  into  sunlight  and,  for  the 
moment,  dissolved.  The  new  week  began  almost 
merrily.  Each  member  of  the  household  had  much 
to  do,  —  Dwight  to  redress  his  somewhat  neglected 
attendance  at  the  mill,  Ruth  the  sunning  and  airing 
of  her  belongings  and  the  rearrangement  of  her  room, 
and  Maris,  with  not  only  the  big  house  and  its  domes- 
tic machinery  to  superintend,  but  also  renewed  work 
on  the  unfinished  garden  for  which,  now,  a  great 
express  order  of  flowers  and  shrubs  had  arrived,  and 
must  be  planted. 

The  early  days  of  the  week  ran  pleasantly  on. 
More  than  once  Maris,  pointing  upward  to  the  crest 
of  Red  Horse  Hill,  declared  that  she  could  see  the 
green  on  the  spring  tips  deepening,  and  knew  that, 
before  many  more  days,  the  yellow  jessamine  would 
be  swinging  its  perfumed  wreaths.  "  And  oh,  to 
think  of  gathering  it  once  more!"  she  cried  in  an 
ecstasy.  "  Do  you  remember,  Dwight,  when  I  was 
so  sick  at  the  hospital,  how  I  thought  I  was  gathering 
sprays  of  it?  " 

"  I  should  say  so,"  returned  her  husband.  "  The 
nurse  and  I  used  to  puzzle  over  what  kind  of  vege- 
table it  could  be." 


60  RED  HORSE  HILL 

"Vegetable!"  mocked  Maris,  in  disgust.  "  It  is 
hardly  so  gross  a  thing  as  a  flower.  Rather  is  it  a 
child  of  the  sun  and  the  young  spring  winds.  It 
scarcely  seems  to  touch  the  earth.  Oh,  I  shall  show 
you  some  now,  in  a  day  or  two,  and  make  you  under- 
stand. Just  the  first  morning  I  can  spend  away  from 
my  poor,  bare,  artificial  garden,  I  want  you  to  take 
me  a  long,  long  drive,  — '  over  the  hills  and  far 
away ! '  Oh,  I  can  hardly  wait !  We  must  go  soon,  — 
just  you,  and  Peggy  and  me." 

Peggy,  a  member  of  the  family  not  hitherto  intro- 
duced, was  a  beautiful  Kentucky  mare.  Her  name, 
in  spite  of  its  bucolic  sound,  was  a  feminized  abbre- 
viation of  "  Pegasus,"  the  nearest  in  decorum,  as 
Maris  said,  that  they  could  come  to  it. 

Old  Dr.  Singleterry  had  not  called  again;  but 
more  than  once  when  Maris  was  in  the  garden  direct- 
ing the  negro  laborers,  he  had  paused  at  the  fence, 
showing  great  interest,  and  proffering,  in  his  courtly 
way,  most  excellent  advice.  He  had  not  touched 
again  upon  distressing  topics,  and  Maris  was  in- 
tensely thankful  for  this,  —  thankful,  too,  that  he 
was  evidently  determined  to  leave  the  question  of 
her  wrong-doing  in  abeyance,  and  look  upon  her 
still  as  the  child  of  his  old  friend,  —  the  little  Maris 
he  had  known  and  loved  many  years  ago. 

After  hours  of  inward  trepidation  and  a  most 
illogical  attempt  to  balance  the  advantage  and  dis- 
advantage of  a  partial  disclosure,  Maris  had  confessed 
to  her  husband  her  former  close  acquaintance  with 
the  minister,  and  the  fact  that  he  was  her  father's 
dearest  friend.  When  Dwight  gave  evidence  of  a 
desire  to  probe  her  motives  in  denying,  on  the  instant, 
so  worthy  an  intimacy,  she  changed,  with  one  of 
her  bewildering  transitions,  into  a  frightened  child, 
saying  that  in  the  stress  of  a  sudden  agitation  she 


FLOWERS  THAT  WERE  NOT  GATHERED  61 

should  not  be  held  responsible  for  word  or  deed;  and 
that,  if  Dwight  loved  her,  he  would  not  wish  to  thrust 
her  into  a  witness  box  for  cross  examination.  These 
ultra  feminine  weapons  silenced,  as  usual,  while  they 
failed  to  convince  her  husband. 

By  this  time  she  felt  secure  in  the  belief  that  Dr. 
Singleterry  was  not  to  betray  her,  and  if  this  de- 
pendence on  his  tenderness  added  to  her  hours  of 
self-accusation,  it  enhanced,  even  more  definitely, 
her  sense  of  present  safety. 

Ruth  had  not  yet  begun  visiting  the  mills.  She 
was  one  of  those  rare  persons  who  know  how  to  wait. 
Her  chief  occupation,  during  her  first  week,  was  in 
reading  and  answering  letters.  She  received,  also, 
many  pamphlets  and  long  documents  that  looked 
like  reports.  Maris  often  wondered  whether  she  could 
digest  them  all.  Each  morning,  at  the  breakfast 
table  this  mail  formed  a  tremulous,  misshapen 
pyramid  at  Ruth's  plate.  The  husband  and  wife 
talked,  of  necessity,  in  lowered  voices,  and  Archer 
went  about  his  duties  on  tiptoe  while  Ruth,  oblivious, 
read  and  ate  together.  Dwight  seemed  to  accept  it 
as  a  matter  of  course,  although  he  himself  was  careful 
not  to  read  business  letters  in  his  wife's  presence. 
Maris,  in  spite  of  herself,  would  sometimes  turn  a 
troubled  glance  upon  the  girl.  The  old-fashioned 
Southerners  among  whom  Maris  had  been  "  raised," 
would  as  soon  have  thought  of  combing  their  hair 
at  the  breakfast  table  as  of  reading  personal  letters 
to  the  neglect  of  their  companions.  But  of  offence 
Ruth  was  frankly  unconscious. 

She  sat  on  Maris'  right,  the  heap  of  letters  to  the 
left  of  her  plate,  thus  bringing  them  directly  under 
the  gaze  of  the  hostess.  It  was  sometimes  impossible 
for  Maris  to  avoid  seeing  post-marks;  or  noting,  how- 
ever unconsciously,  the  character  of  a  written  address. 


62  RED  HORSE  HILL 

On  a  bright  morning  in  the  second  week  of  Ruth's 
arrival,  the  heap  of  letters  beside  her  plate  was  con- 
spicuously taller,  and  of  more  irregular  proportions 
than  usual.  Marked  copies  of  papers,  pamphlets, 
brochures,  circulars  and  missives  of  every  kind  had 
chosen,  it  would  seem,  this  one  mail  for  delivery. 
There  was,  in  particular,  a  long  blue  envelope  quite 
far  down  in  the  mass,  that  had,  to  Maris,  a  familiar 
and  in  some  vague  way,  a  disturbing  look.  Somehow, 
somewhere,  in  the  past,  she  had  seen  or  received 
letters  that  came  in  a  long  envelope  of  that  peculiar 
shade.  They  had  not  been  legal  papers.  The  sick, 
yellow  tone  of  those  Kansas  city  documents  was  never 
to  be  forgotten  or  confounded.  This  blue  tint  brought 
half-memories  less  ominous  than  the  yellow,  —  yet 
tantalizing  in  the  nebulous  suggestion  of  menace. 

Ruth  had  now  entered,  was  in  her  place,  and,  after 
a  brief,  bright  nod  and  "  Good  morning,"  had  begun 
her  eager  perusal  of  the  letters.  Papers  and  pamphlets 
were  laid  aside,  but  each  letter,  in  turn,  was  read 
carefully.  While  she  was  thus  working  a  deliberate 
way  down  toward  the  blue  envelope,  Maris  tried  to 
reason  herself  out  of  her  faint  forebodings,  —  strove 
to  talk,  with  what  animation  whispering  allows,  with 
her  husband,  telling  him  her  plans  for  garden  work 
that  day.  She  bent  her  attention  deliberately  to  the 
breakfast  she  was  eating.  Aunt  Mandy's  cooking 
never  failed,  and  Maris  was  trying  to  turn  herself 
into  a  gourmand  that  she  might  appreciate,  to  the 
exclusion  of  other  things,  the  quality  of  the  fragrant 
coffee  and  the  flaky  crispness  of  the  waffles.  In  spite 
of  these  efforts,  her  eyes  kept  turning  toward  the 
diminishing  heap  of  letters  at  her  right  elbow. 

At  last  the  blue  one  was  reached.  It  lay  face  down, 
but  at  the  closing  bore  a  small  round  seal  done  in 
a  darker  blue.  At  the  first  glimpse,  Maris  recognized 


FLOWERS  THAT  WERE  NOT  GATHERED  63 

it  as  the  official  seal  of  the  hospital,  "  St.  Raymond's," 
where  she  was  ill  so  long,  and  in  the  chapel  of  which 
she  had  become  the  wife  of  Dwight  Alden.  For  a 
moment  her  heart  turned  to  ice.  She  poured  and  drank 
another  cup  of  coffee,  and  soon  the  stimulant  revived 
her.  Now  she  could  laugh  at  herself.  There  was  no 
reason  why  Ruth  should  not  have  friends,  —  more 
than  one  of  them,  —  among  the  patients  of  St.  Ray- 
mond's. It  was  a  little  world  of  healing  in  itself,  and 
its  inmates  came  from  every  corner  of  the  land.  She 
turned  deliberately  to  Dwight,  insisting  that  he  take 
another  cup  to  "  keep  her  company/'  asking  him  in- 
consequent questions  about  his  routine  for  the  day, 
and  then  not  listening  to  his  replies.  But  would  it 
not  be  strange,  —  a  tweak  of  fate,  indeed,  —  if 
Ruth  should  happen  to  know  well  any  of  the  perma- 
nent staff  of  St.  Raymond's?  That  boyish  young 
Assistant  House  Physician,  for  instance,  who  was 
in  love  with  herself,  and  had  hated  her  for  marrying 
another  man!  But  no,  that  was  too  improbable; 
of  all  the  great  hospitals  in  the  north,  and  all  the 
earnest  young  doctors  employed  hi  them,  it  wasn't 
conceivable  that  Ruth  should  have  formed  a  friend- 
ship with  just  this  one. 

Now  Ruth  had  finished  the  letter  in  her  hand,  and 
was  taking  up  the  blue  one.  Maris  leaned  far  over 
to  the  left,  away  from  Ruth,  placed  her  chin  in  her 
palm,  and  began,  —  this  time  hi  an  ordinary  pitch 
of  voice,  —  a  new  series  of  half-meaningless  remarks. 
She  hardly  knew  what  it  was  that  she  talked  about. 
Yellow  jessamines  and  blue  violets  bore  some  part 
in  it.  She  stopped  suddenly,  for  it  seemed  to  her 
that  her  husband's  eyes  were  taking  on  a  puzzled 
look. 

Ruth,  her  head  over  the  letter,  gave  a  low  cry 
that  had  quite  as  much  pleasure  as  surprise  in  it. 


64  RED  HORSE  HILL 

"  What's  up?     Good  news?  "  asked  her  brother. 

"  I  shouldn't  call  that  the  most  suitable  term," 
answered  Ruth  without  looking  up.  "  But  at  least 
it  is  agreeable  news.  A  friend  is  coming  to  the  South 
on  an  errand  congenial  with  my  own." 

"More  female  professors,  —  more  reformers!" 
said  Dwight,  with  a  groan.  "  Keep  them  away  from 
the  Regina." 

Ruth  explained  no  further  for  the  moment,  but 
Maris,  now  gazing  with  fascinated  eyes,  knew  well 
enough  it  was  no  image  of  a  "  female  professor  "  that 
brought  the  slow,  delicate  flush  to  the  girl's  cheek. 
"  After  all,  she  is  human,"  thought  Maris.  "  Her 
heart  is  warm  and  alive,  if  only  she  finds  it  out  in 
time." 

"  Well,  when  is  she  coming?  Let  us  know  the 
worst,"  Dwight  persisted. 

"  It  is  a  young  physician,"  said  Ruth,  flushing  a 
deeper  pink,  and  looking  even  younger  and  prettier. 
"  Not  a  woman  physician." 

"  Oho!  "  cried  her  brother,  delighted  to  have  found 
a  weak  spot  in  the  intellectual  armor.    "  A  man,  — 
a  mere  man !  And  you  blushing  like  a  Dutch  cabbage." 

"  Don't  be  so  personal,  —  and  so  vulgar,  Dwight," 
said  his  young  sister,  severely.  She  stood  up,  pre- 
paring to  leave.  The  blue  letter  fell,  wide  opened, 
on  the  table.  The  girl  caught  it  up,  but  Maris  had 
already  seen  the  handwriting,  and  a  sickening  thrill 
ran  through  her  veins. 

"  Now,  Dwight,"  she  commanded,  standing  beside 
Ruth,  "  you've  got  to  stop  that  silly  teasing.  Don't 
tell  him  a  word,  Ruth." 

"  I  have  absolutely  nothing  to  conceal,"  said  Ruth, 
stiffly.  "  It  was  Dwight's  manner  that  I  resented." 

"  0,  Ruthie,  you're  a  woman  after  all,  and  thank 
the  Lord  for  it ! "  persisted  Dwight,  in  great  good 


FLOWERS  THAT  WERE  NOT  GATHERED  65 

humor.  "  Out  with  the  name  of  your  fascinating 
youth." 

"  Don't  tell  him  —  "  Maris  began,  in  an  excitement 
which  was  not  feigned,  but  Ruth  was  already  repeat- 
ing, in  a  dry,  hard  voice:  "  He  is  a  young  surgeon, 
and  specialist  on  tubercular  diseases,  who  has  given 
courses  at  Wellesley.  He  is  now  being  sent  South 
to  investigate  tubercular  conditions  among  the 
laborers  of  cotton  mills.  His  name  is  Page,  —  Dr. 
Harvey  Page.  You  will  kindly  refrain  from  connect- 
ing me  in  any  foolish  way  with  this  earnest  young 
scientist.  I  assure  you  it  would  be  extremely  dis- 
tasteful to  us  both." 

"  Not  to  the  doctor,  you  can  bet,  if  you  look  as 
pretty  as  you  do  this  minute,"  said  Alden. 

Maris,  now  in  the  doorway,  felt  that  she  could 
shriek  aloud  in  her  nervousness.  "  Dwight,  please 
come  with  me  and  stop  troubling  Ruth.  There  are 
some  household  matters  I  must  ask  you  about." 

But  he  was  never  a  man  who  could  be  hurried  or 
pushed  to  a  move.  He  stood  his  ground,  laughing 
from  one  flushed  face  to  the  other.  His  eyes  were 
now  on  Ruth.  "  Page,  —  Dr.  Harvey  Page.  I'm 
sure  I  have  met  him.  What  hospital  was  he  in?  " 

"  St.  Raymond's.  Why,  of  course,  that  was  the 
hospital  where  Maris  was  ill  so  long.  I  had  not 
connected  the  two  facts." 

"  And  that  wras  the  very  Page  who  was  in  love  with 
Maris,  too,"  laughed  Alden. 

"  You  have  made  a  mistake  in  the  name,  Dwight," 
said  Maris  very  distinctly.  "  It  was  another  member 
of  the  staff  who  used  to  send  me  flowers." 

"  I  am  sure  —  " 

"  No,  you  are  utterly  mistaken.  Young  Doctor 
Page  was  kind  and  sympathetic,  as  he  might  be  to 
any  suffering  invalid,  —  but  beyond  that  —  "  She 


66  RED  HORSE  HILL 

tried  to  give  a  careless  gesture,  —  to  smile,  —  but 
Ruth's  grave,  cold  eyes  were  on  her,  and  she  paled 
instead. 

"  I  think  I  understand,"  said  Ruth  quietly,  as  she 
left  the  room. 

"  0,  Dwight,  Dwight,  how  could  you  do  it!  "  Maris 
wailed. 

"  Do  what?  " 

"  Tell  her  that  Page  was  in  love  with  me." 

"  Wasn't  he?  " 

"  Yes,  —  no,  —  0,  I  don't  remember,  —  I  don't 
care.  There  has  never  been  but  one  man  on  earth, 
and  that's  you.  Even  if  he  was,  you  shouldn't  have 
hinted  it  to  Ruth.  Now  she's  going  to  hate  me, 
mortally,  for  life." 

"  What  are  you  talking  about?  "  asked  the  man, 
utterly  bewildered. 

"  She's  interested  in  him.  A  little  more,  and  she'd 
be  in  love  with  him.  Didn't  you  see  her  blush?  And  he's 
a  dear,  honest,  serious  boy  with  a  mission,  —  exactly 
suited  to  Ruth.  And  you've  spoiled  everything!" 

"  Nonsense! "  he  cried,  the  more  roughly  that  he 
began  to  perceive  the  truth. 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  his  study.  He 
gathered  his  handful  of  morning  mail  from  the  wide, 
flat  desk,  and  said,  a  little  gruffly:  "Come  kiss  me 
good-by.  I  promised  McGhee  to  reach  the  mill 
early,  this  morning." 

"  I'm  going  with  you,"  said  Maris.  "  Don't  think 
for  a  minute  that  I  intend  to  be  left  behind  here  with 
Ruth.  Did  you  notice  that  glare  she  turned  on  me 
when  I  was  lying?  " 

"  Ruth's  a  lady,  if  she  is  a  prig,"  said  Alden,  curtly. 

"  Don't  you  care  to  have  me  go  with  you?  "  Maris 
now  asked  him.  There  was  such  a  world  of  pathos 
in  her  eyes  and  voice  that  he  melted. 


FLOWERS  THAT  WERE  NOT  GATHERED  67 

"  Of  course  I  do,  if  you  can  get  ready  quickly.  I've 
asked  you  a  dozen  times,  and  you  always  said  you 
were  too  busy." 

"  Self-preservation  is  the  first  law  of  nature," 
Maris  observed.  "  Besides,  I  want  to  go  this  morn- 
ing. Look  at  the  green  on  Red  Horse  Hill.  I'll  have 
my  jessamines  to-day." 

"  And  I'll  stop  in  the  mill  only  a  half  hour  or  so, 
then  take  you  for  a  drive.  Does  that  suit  your  lady- 
ship? " 

"  I  always  said  you  were  the  one  utterly  satis- 
factory being  I  knew.  Wait  here.  I'll  get  my  hat 
and  veil  before  you  can  light  that  cigar.  Is  Peggy 
ordered?  " 

"  She's  at  the  gate." 

"  So  she  is,  —  the  darling !  Isn't  it  funny  how  much 
nicer  horses  are  than  some  human  beings?  "  With  the 
last  words  she  was  on  the  stair.  In  an  incredibly 
short  time  she  was  descending  in  a  whirlwind,  ready 
for  the  drive.  A  green  automobile  veil  was  draped 
heavily  about  her  head  and  face. 

Ruth,  from  her  chamber  window,  watched  their 
departure.  She  perceived  at  once  the  intention  of  her 
sister-in-law,  and  felt  a  faint  glow  of  scorn  at  the 
cowardice  revealed.  On  the  other  hand  it  was  a 
distinct  relief  to  be  alone.  The  girl  had  been  a  little 
startled  at  her  own  emotions,  the  pleasure  she  had 
felt  in  reading  of  Page's  coming,  the  flush  of  anger 
at  her  brother's  badinage,  the  twinge,  strangely 
resembling  pain,  which  had  come  with  the  disclosure 
of  his  past  interest  in  another  woman.  Her  clear 
mind  faced  the  situation.  Page  had  been,  no  doubt, 
more  or  less  interested  in  his  patient.  But  how  much 
more,  —  how  much  less,  —  and  what  was  his  present 
feeling?  As  has  been  the  way  of  women  from  the 
beginning,  Ruth,  thinking  the  question  out,  depre- 


68  RED  HORSE  HILL 

ciated  her  own  attractions  and  exaggerated  those 
of  her  rival.  She  did  not  deny  beauty  to  Maris.  The 
great,  unquiet,  living  eyes  alone  would  have  lent 
beauty  to  a  plainer  face.  She  admitted,  too,  a  degree 
of  fascination,  particularly  if  one  does  not  object  to 
childishness  in  a  grown  woman,  to  a  dependence  on 
the  nearest  will  stronger  than  her  own,  and  a  yielding 
to  every  passing  mood.  For  her  own  part  Ruth  neither 
admired  nor  liked  the  accepted  type  of  Southern 
woman.  They  were  too  concessive,  —  too  feminine. 
Ruth  tolerated  "  sex "  only  when  bound  to  the 
chariot  wheels  of  intellect. 

After  a  few  moments  of  reflection,  she  was  entirely 
self-possessed.  She  took  a  seat  now,  not  facing  the 
window,  for  the  passing  of  vehicles  might  have  dis- 
tracted the  progress  of  her  thought.  Harvey  Page, 
cruder  and  more  impressionable  three  years  ago,  had, 
undoubtedly,  fallen  a  victim  to  Maris'  Southern 
wiles.  Presumably  Maris  exerted  all  her  femininity 
to  bring  about  this  result,  even  though,  at  the  same 
moment,  Dwight  Alden  was  visiting  her  and  surely 
giving  more  than  a  hint  of  his  own  attachment.  The 
inference  was  not  flattering  to  Maris,  nor  wholly 
reassuring  with  regard  to  Dwight.  For  the  hundredth 
time  Ruth  regretted  that,  of  all  years,  she  should  have 
chosen  just  that  one  to  remain  in  Europe. 

There  was  one  more  question,  —  and  this  time  a 
personal  probe.  Ruth  put  it  to  herself  without  a 
tremor.  Granting  the  previous  conclusions,  and, 
apart  from  her  own  relationship  to  Dwight,  was  the 
matter  one  to  affect  herself?  In  other  words,  would 
it  have  been  the  same  if  Dr.  Page  were  another  man? 
With  her  eyes  still  bright  and  steady,  but  her  cheeks 
grown  suddenly  pink,  Ruth  snapped  out:  "  It 
wouldn't  have  been  the  same,  and  you  know  it!  " 

At  this  she  rose  from  her  straight-backed  chair  and 


FLOWERS  THAT  WERE  NOT  GATHERED  69 

walked  a  little  aimlessly  across  the  room.  All  useless 
ornament,  all  fluttering  bits  of  ribbon  and  of  lace 
were  gone.  The  small  desk  in  the  corner  had  a 
manlike  outfit  of  bronze  inkstand,  blotter,  pen  and 
writing  pad.  On  the  centre  table,  where  the  hyacinths 
had  bloomed  for  so  brief  a  season,  books  were  now 
scattered,  the  titles  of  which  bore  little  relation  to 
those  usually  seen  in  a  young  lady's  boudoir.  There 
was  "  Pragmatism  "  by  William  James,  a  "  History 
of  the  Southern  States,"  some  recent  publications 
of  the  National  Child  Labor  Committee,  with  head- 
quarters in  New  York,  and  typewritten  copies  of 
the  latest  Acts  against  unrestricted  child  labor  in 
the  South,  passed  recently  in  certain  Southern  States. 
Catching  sight  of  these  papers,  conspicuous  because 
of  their  legal  size,  and  the  use  of  the  purple  ink, 
Ruth's  face  cleared.  She  moved  more  quickly  toward 
the  table.  As  she  advanced,  a  queer  thing  happened. 
There  seemed  to  be  a  second  young  woman  coming 
from  nowhere  directly  toward  her.  With  a  laugh  at 
her  folly  she  recognized  her  own  image  in  a  long 
cheval-glass,  which  before  this  moment  she  had 
scarcely  seen.  One  hand  of  the  reflected  figure  was 
already  on  the  purple  pages.  Ruth  deliberately 
paused,  came  around  from  the  table,  and  walked  up 
to  the  mirror.  She  did  not  speak.  For  long  moments 
her  expression  did  not  change.  She  only  looked, 
wistfully,  dumbly,  a  little  wonderingly,  as  Eve  might 
have  gazed  into  her  own  girlish,  unfamiliar  face  in 
some  clear  garden  pool.  But  when,  at  last,  she 
turned  away,  there  was  the  flicker  of  a  dimple  at  the 
corner  of  her  lips. 

Now  she  went  up  to  the  table,  took  up  a  paper 
with  a  determined  hand,  found  a  cosy  chair  and 
corner  for  herself,  and,  in  a  few  moments,  had 
forgotten  the  very  existence  of  such  frail  units 


70  RED  HORSE  HILL 

as  herself,  young  Page,  and  the  incalculable  sister- 
in-law. 

Meanwhile,  on  the  red  clay  roads,  Peggy  was 
picking  a  slow  and  disdainful  way.  One  could  see 
her  dainty  nostrils  curl.  She  did  not  like  the  mud 
to  accumulate  on  her  feet,  but,  as  Maris  gravely 
told  her,  it  was  so  much  easier  to  scrape  it  from 
four  slender  hoofs,  than  from  the  entire  bulk  of  the 
motor-car. 

They  had  descended  their  own  hill-slope  to  the 
east,  forded  the  slushy  dip  of  the  valley,  and,  branch- 
ing off  from  the  main  thoroughfare  which  would  have 
led  them  by  "  St.  John's  "  and  the  Rectory,  had  taken 
the  wavering  country  road  up  Red  Horse  Hill.  The 
recent  days  of  sunshine  had  already  given  Spring 
the  freedom  of  the  land.  On  every  side  verdure  was 
deepening  in  tone,  and  dandelions  held  up  their  small 
gold  discs  for  polishing.  In  villa  gardens,  and  against 
the  stone  foundations  of  the  houses,  chickweed  and 
timothy-grass  exploded.  Mocking-birds  sang  reck- 
lessly on  fence-posts  and  on  chimney-tops. 

"  There  will  be  yellow  jessamine.  There  will  be 
yellow  jessamine! "  cried  Maris,  more  than  once. 
Free,  for  the  time  being,  from  all  apprehension,  she 
had  hurled  herself  into  an  elfin  mood  of  joy.  Never 
had  she  seemed  to  her  husband  more  childlike,  more 
enchanting,  or  more  incomprehensible.  Now  she  would 
echo  the  whirr  of  some  jay-bird,  or  enter  into  grave 
discourse  with  a  rabbit,  perched  on  its  haunches  beside 
the  road.  Nearing  the  crest  of  forest  she  cried  out 
that  she  saw  fairies  hanging  green  lanterns  among 
the  trees.  At  sight  of  the  first  great  violet  she  grasped 
her  husband's  arm.  "  Look  at  it.  Take  off  your  hat 
to  the  lady,  Dwight!  " 

It  was  all  sweet  fooling  to  the  practical  business 


FLOWERS  THAT  WERE  NOT  GATHERED  71 

man.  At  such  moments  faint  stirrings  of  his  own 
vague  youth  came  back  to  him.  He  began  now  to 
speak  of  early  summers  spent  among  the  White 
Mountains  of  New  England,  and  of  certain  boyish 
escapades.  Once  Maris  stopped  him.  "  You  actu- 
ally stole  apples,  —  you?  "  she  asked,  incredulously; 
and  when  he  had  repeated  the  delinquency,  rose 
on  her  feet  to  kiss  him,  crying  aloud:  "I  didn't 
know  that  anything  could  make  me  love  you  harder!  " 

By  this  the  strip  of  woods  running  along  the  narrow 
table-land  of  the  summit  had  been  reached.  "  Give 
Peggy  the  reins,  and  let  us  forget  everything  but 
that  we  are  here  together,"  Maris  commanded. 

Red  maples  were  fairly  out,  and  the  deep  pink 
Judas  tree.  The  dogwoods  were  beginning  to  unfurl, 
and  all  across  the  earth,  upspringing  through  the 
fallen  leaves  of  last  year,  the  huge  wood-violets 
seemed  to  regard  them  steadily,  each  with  its  single, 
yellow  eye.  Their  curious  air  of  alertness  was  patent, 
even  to  Dwight.  He  spoke  of  it  to  Maris,  laughing. 

"  They  won't  keep  it  up  long,"  she  said,  with  a 
wave  of  her  hand  toward  them.  "  As  soon  as  we  are 
out  of  sight,  they'll  pop  down  again." 

"  Don't  you  want  to  get  out  here  and  gather  some?  " 
asked  Dwight.  "  McGhee  can  wait  a  bit  longer." 

"  No,  for  they'd  only  fade.  Besides,  no  jessamine 
has  waked  up  just  here.  I'll  gather  a  lot  of  all  kinds 
of  flowers  on  the  way  back,  after  the  tiresome  mill 
business  is  over." 

"  Well,  then,  I  guess  we'd  better  be  moving.  Get 
up,  Peggy!" 

"  We're  nearly  to  the  other  side  now,"  grumbled 
Maris.  "  I  can  hear  the  shiver  of  that  horrible  mill. 
Somehow  I  am  afraid  of  it." 

She  spoke  no  more  until  the  farther  side  of  the 
copse  was  reached,  then,  looking  round  at  her,  Dwight 


72  RED  HORSE  HILL 

saw  that  her  eyes  were  tightly  shut,  and  her  hands 
against  her  ears.  "  You  might  as  well  look  and  have 
done  with  it,"  he  laughed,  pulling  her  hands  away. 
"  What  a  little  coward  you  are,  Maris!  " 

"  I  know  it.  I  didn't  say  I  wasn't! "  sighed  she, 
opening  her  eyes  slowly.  She  gave  a  little  gasp  of 
dismay.  "  Now  isn't  that  village  frightful,  even  to 
you?  " 

"  It  is  pretty  fierce,"  admitted  the  man,  staring 
down  as  she  was  staring.  "  But,  even  then,  it's 
better  than  some  of  them." 

The  hillside,  sloping  downward  from  Peggy's  feet 
to  the  valley,  was  bare  of  tree,  shrub  or  grass.  Here 
and  there  a  living  stump  was  left,  and  from  it  sprang 
a  few,  pale  twigs  of  green.  In  the  hot  midsummer 
drought  and  sun,  these,  too,  would  perish.  The 
bare,  unpainted  cottages  were  set  with  as  much  regu- 
larity as  the  conformation  of  the  hill  allowed.  All 
were  built  on  exactly  the  same  model,  a  chimney 
in  the  centre,  a  room  on  each  side,  and  one  small 
closet  or  wing-room  at  the  back,  generally  used  as  a 
kitchen.  In  front  were  small,  square  porticos  with  a 
roof  overhead  and  four  unplaned  posts,  known  in 
the  vernacular  as  "  two-by-fours."  From  the  veran- 
dah a  steep  flight  of  unpainted  steps  led  down  to 
the  earth.  Apparently  the  one  precaution  for  health 
was  shown  in  the  height  of  the  cottage  foundations. 
Each  was  held  up  by  four  stilt-like,  slender  piers  of 
red  brick,  covered  at  the  base  with  a  thick  green 
mould  which  gradually  became  thinner  in  the  ascent. 
Between  several  groups  of  the  cabins;  red  "  gullies  " 
were  already  being  washed  out  of  the  clay.  To  an 
experienced  eye  it  was  a  matter  of  a  few  years  more, 
and  these  neglected  rills  would  become  chasms, 
threatening  the  destruction  of  the  village.  It  was  a 
mark  of  indifference  to  beauty,  the  lack  of  any  feeling 


FLOWERS  THAT  WERE  NOT  GATHERED  73 

of  attachment  to  the  soil,  that  these  menacing  scars 
were  ignored.  In  those  which  already  impinged 
upon  the  kitchen  wings  of  houses,  dish-water,  offal 
and  refuse  were  poured,  and,  though  so  early  in  the 
spring,  flies  had  begun  to  gather  in  swarms.  In  a. few 
weeks  more,  mosquitoes  would  add  their  unwhole- 
some presence. 

Few  of  the  cottage  windows  were  draped,  and  in 
none  was  there  the  slightest  attempt  at  ornament. 
Even  the  tin  tomato  can  with  its  geranium  cuttings, 
so  often  seen  in  a  negro  dwelling,  was  a  stranger  to 
these.  The  effect  of  the  village,  after  the  first  sen- 
sation of  mere  ugliness,  was  that  of  desolation.  One 
could  fancy  it  plague-stricken,  and  suddenly  emp- 
tied. At  a  casual  glance,  not  one  human  figure  was 
to  be  seen  in  all  the  windows,  the  porches,  or  moving 
upon  the  sunlit  roads.  Only  the  mill  was  active, 
sending  out,  incessantly,  its  smoke  and  steam  and 
noise. 

"  Are  the  people  all  dead?  "  asked  Maris.  "  Or 
has  the  mill  dragged  them  into  its  jaws,  and  chewed 
them  up?  Ugh!  Its  red  walls  are  soaked  in  blood." 

"  It  makes  a  pretty  fine  appearance  to  me,"  said 
Alden.  "  Look  at  those  freight  cars  backing  out  now 
to  the  main  track.  That  all  means  profit." 

"  I  see  one  living  creature,"  said  Maris,  shading  her 
eyes  to  stare  along  the  houses.  "  Some  one  in  an  old 
rocking-chair,  on  a  gallery.  Don't  you  see,  —  half- 
way down  the  hill?  " 

As  if  it  heard  her  at  this  distance,  the  figure  turned, 
—  rather  rolled  in  his  chair,  glanced  upward,  then 
stretched  out  two  thick  arms  in  a  gigantic  yawn 
and  settled  back  to  his  nap. 

A  violent  shudder  passed  over  Maris.  "  It  is  a 
drunkard,  —  a  diseased  drunkard.  I  don't  want  to 
look  that  way  any  more." 


74  RED  HORSE  HILL 

"  Well,  don't,"  said  Alden.  "  We'll  have  to  pass 
by  his  house,  but  you  can  keep  your  head  averted." 

They  had  begun  the  descent,  Peggy,  with  diffi- 
culty, keeping  a  footing  on  the  slimy  road.  She 
expressed  disgust  and  disdain  in  every  curve  of  her 
beautiful,  lithe  body. 

"  Are  we  near  that  horrid  looking  man?  "  asked 
Maris,  holding  her  veil  about  her. 

"  Quite  close,  —  but  he  has  turned  his  face.  You 
can't  see  it." 

"  I  don't  want  to,"  said  she.  "  Now,  have  we 
passed?  " 

"  Yes,  now  he's  behind  us.  What  a  fanciful  being 
you  are! " 

"  I  don't  know  what  it  was  about  him,"  said  Maris, 
in  deprecation.  "  He  looked  so  lazy,  and  greasy, 
even  at  that  distance.  I'm  glad  we  are  past  him." 

The  roar  of  the  mill  now  dominated  space.  Earth 
shivered  to  it,  and  the  hollow  cottages  caught  and 
echoed  it.  The  hum  and  buzz,  at  first  indistinguish- 
able in  the  general  roar,  now  yielded  component 
vibrations,  the  sound  of  a  mighty  wheel,  the  rhythm 
of  the  engine,  the  hiss  of  a  great  band,  and  the  rattle 
of  countless  looms.  A  most  unusual  odor,  something, 
Maris  thought,  like  the  odor  of  caged  beasts,  issued 
from  it,  befouling  the  clear  spring  air.  It  was  a 
mingled  smell  of  grease  and  heat;  the  sickening  taint 
of  starch  through  which  the  warm  cloth  was  always 
passing,  of  overheated  rooms,  unclean  humanity, 
and  a  touch  of  disease. 

The  great  edifice,  in  spite  of  its  lofty  tower  and 
imposing  walls,  did  not  possess  an  entrance  worthy 
of  the  name.  In  such  enterprises  utility  and  cheapness 
usually  dominate.  So  with  the  Regina;  the  curved 
car-railings  were  allowed  to  run  up  to  the  door  itself, 
and,  deflecting  a  few  yards,  pass  into  the  lower  pack- 


ing-room.  Peggy  must  needs  feel  a  precarious  way 
over  slag,  and  coke  and  other  refuse,  before  she  could 
drag  the  buggy  near  the  two  painted  panels  that 
formed  the  main  entrance  door. 

Before  they  had  fairly  stopped,  MeGhee,  genial, 
smiling,  in  a  blue  shirt,  and  crimson  tie,  was  upon 
them.  "  Glad  to  see  you,  boss.  Been  needin'  you. 
Good-mornin',  madam.  This  is  an  honor  the  Reginy 
didn't  anticipate.  Pretty  day  we've  got  up  for  you, 
ain't  it?  Goin'  through  the  mills?  " 

Maris  tried  to  smile  as  she  shook  her  head.  Mc- 
Ghee  was  an  attractive  figure,  and  his  fine  blue  eyes 
showed  a  clear  depth  as  he  gazed  upward,  boldly, 
into  the  faces  above  him.  His  laughing  mouth  dis- 
closed a  set  of  perfect  teeth;  his  hair  was  crisp, 
golden-brown,  and  clustering  in  small  curls  about  his 
forehead  and  on  his  neck.  Alden  showed  plainly 
his  liking  for  the  man,  and  responded  to  his  hearty 
greetings  with  some  warmth.  But  Maris,  staring 
downward,  felt  a  sort  of  nausea  of  remembrance. 
Of  exactly  this  type  of  animal  beauty  was  the  man  who 
had  played  upon  her  girlish  imagination,  persuaded 
her  into  marriage  against  her  father's  will,  and 
afterward  had  put  upon  her  the  double  wrong  of 
infidelity,  and  the  theft  of  their  child.  So  vividly 
was  the  face  of  James  Martin  brought  before  the 
woman's  shrinking  eyes,  that  the  belief  in  his  death 
wavered.  Somewhere,  in  some  comer  of  this  wide 
land,  he  must  still  be  alive,  ready  to  come  upon  her, 
to  torture,  and  to  add  new  wrongs.  Then  she  thought 
of  the  yellow  certificate  from  Kansas  City,  and  the 
terror  passed. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  as  well  for  us,  McGhee,"  Mr.  Alden 
was  saying  to  his  superintendent,  "  that  Mrs.  Alden 
takes  no  interest  in  machinery  or  laborers.  But  I 
warn  you  to  keep  a  lookout  for  my  sister." 


76  RED  HORSE  HILL 

McGhee  delicately  turned  his  head  to  eject  a  long, 
brown  stream  of  tobacco  juice.  When  he  smiled 
upward  again,  the  teeth  were  white  and  perfect  as 
grains  of  new  corn,  and  his  red  lips  undefiled.  "  Lord, 
yes,"  he  answered,  "  I  knew  that  she'd  be  after  me 
sooner  or  later  the  first  minute  I  clapped  my  eyes  on 
'er.  Reformer  an'  Boston  School  Marm  is  writ  all  over 
her  pretty  face.  Most  likely  she'll  begin  with  the 
Kindergarten  stunt,  playgrounds  and  all  them  frills. 
She's  dead  sartin'  to  require  one  uv  your  empty 
cottages  fer  a  schoolhouse.  Well,  sir;  it's  up  to  you!  " 
The  speaker  grinned  more  broadly,  his  eyes  twinkling 
with  fun.  Maris  leaned  back  that  she  might  not  look 
at  him. 

"  We  needn't  worry  about  that,  yet.  I  have  sug- 
gested to  my  sister  that  she  inspect  adjacent  mills 
before  trying  the  Regina,"  he  said. 

"  That's  all  right,  too.  Let  her  inspect  and  write 
up  reports  on  the  others,  but  start  up  her  reforms  in 
our  mill.  Looks  well  fer  us,  as  broad-minded,  chari- 
table citizens,  you  know."  McGbee's  careless  face 
had  suddenly  grown  older,  more  shrewd.  "  She 
can't  do  us  no  harm,  when  it  comes  to  that.  She'll 
drop  it  in  a  few  weeks'  time,  —  they  all  do!  Lord!  " 
he  added,  after  a  second  and  more  voluminous  expec- 
toration, "  if  the  ladies  think  they're  gittin'  their 
own  way,  it's  enough.  Ain't  that  so,  Mi's  Alden?  " 

Maris,  thus  dragged  into  the  conversation,  asked 
a  question  of  her  own.  "  The  law  forbids  any  chil- 
dren under  twelve  to  work  in  the  mills,  does  it  not?  " 

"  That's  the  popular  belief,  ma'am,"  said  McGhee. 

"  Then  there  must  be  lots  of  children  who  could  go 
to  such  a  school." 

McGhee  could  not  restrain  his  laughter.  "  That 
don't  follow,  —  not  in  these  parts,"  he  said.  "  Chil- 
dren under  twelve  don't  get  born  any  more.  It's 


FLOWERS  THAT  WERE  NOT  GATHERED  77 

from  the  cradle  to  the  loom,  fer  them !  Why,  I  know 
one  married  couple  as  has  eight  kids,  all  so  high," 
roughly  he  measured  on  the  air  the  height  of  a  six 
years'  child,  "  and  danged  if  the  whole  bunch  isn't 
jes'  over  twelve,  —  an'  no  twins,  either!"  He 
laughed  coarsely,  but  Alden,  showing  for  the  first 
time  a  hint  of  displeasure,  began  to  step  down  from  the 
buggy,  saying,  "  We'd  better  go  in  and  look  at  the 
new  machine.  I've  promised  to  take  Mrs.  Alden  for 
a  drive."  He  turned  toward  his  wife.  "  You  are 
sure  you  won't  be  frightened  out  here,  alone? " 
he  asked. 

"  Peggy  and  I  will  be  all  right,  if  you  don't  stay 
too  long,"  she  answered.  "  But  don't  make  it  very 
long.  This  huge  mill  seems  to  be  creeping  by  inches 
upon  me." 

"  It  certainly  is  funny  how  noises  get  on  a  woman's 
nerves,"  remarked  McGhee,  as  the  two  men  entered 
the  mill.  "  Lots  uv  them  are  that  way.  I've  known 
female  hands  go  plumb  daft  with  it.  As  for  me  I 
got  to  lovin'  it  years  ago.  I  can't  hardly  get  to  sleep 
at  night  without  it,  and  all  day  Sundays  I  am  buttin' 
about  like  a  critter  under  a  glass  bell." 

Mans,  left  strangely  alone  as  soon  as  the  office 
door  was  closed,  let  the  reins  sag  in  her  hand,  and 
stared  about.  The  dead  mill  village  on  its  fiery 
slope  ran  up,  before  her,  almost  to  the  refreshing  strip 
of  green  that  crowned  the  hill.  Close  to  her  right 
the  mill  shivered,  and  shrieked  and  roared  as  of  its 
own  volition,  giving  no  hint  of  human  occupancy. 
Not  even  a  stray  animal,  dog,  horse,  or  the  ubi- 
quitous goat  was  visible. 

Half  idly  her  fancy  began  to  weave  similes  for  the 
noises  of  the  mill.  Now  it  was  as  the  sound  of  in- 
cessant, frantic  traffic  on  a  rough  stone  road.  She 
heard  the  wheels,  the  clatter  of  hoofs,  cracking  of 


78  RED  HORSE  HILL 

whips,  curses  of  drivers,  and,  at  times,  the  shriek  of 
some  living  victim  gone  down  under  the  juggernaut 
of  trade.  Now  there  was  a  slight  softening  of  all 
sounds,  and  they  began  to  flow  together  through  a 
rocky  mountain  gorge,  set  with  great  boulders,  each 
of  a  different  size.  Maris  closed  her  lids  to  gain  a 
clearer  impression.  Yes,  she  could  almost  place,  by 
ear,  the  jagged  edges  of  the  stream,  the  new  eddy 
forming  to  the  fore  of  the  largest  boulder.  Then  all 
at  once  the  sounds  leaped  to  a  higher  key,  the  noise 
redoubled,  the  stones  became  hollow  so  that  each 
roared  and  reverberated  on  a  different  note.  She 
opened  her  eyes  hastily,  looking  toward  the  mill 
for  a  possible  cause.  A  small  door,  hitherto  un- 
noticed, had  been  thrown  wide,  almost  at  her  elbow. 
From  it  escaped  a  thousand  fleeing  demons  of  rever- 
beration, and  she  heard  the  undulating  clatter  of  the 
looms,  the  falsetto  shrills  of  the  spool-room,  and  the 
low,  cruel  purr  of  the  great  band  upon  the  gigantic 
wheel. 

Staring  within,  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  wide, 
dusty  room,  where  cotton-bales  were  heaped  upon 
the  floor  at  irregular  intervals,  or  set  on  end,  like 
boxes,  against  the  walls.  A  few  stalwart  negro  men 
moved  about  with  deliberate  steps,  plunging  short 
cotton  hooks  into  the  bales,  and  dragging  them  slowly, 
across  the  flooring,  to  a  freight  elevator. 

As  yet  the  person  who  had  opened  the  door  re- 
mained unseen.  He  now  appeared,  tottering  and 
grasping  at  the  wall,  so  that  at  first  Maris  thought 
him  drunk.  A  terrible  attack  of  coughing  made 
him  pause  outside  the  door,  and  prevented  him  from 
closing  it.  An  overseer  performed  this  service, 
kicking  the  door  together  with  his  foot,  and  sending 
a  scowl  and  a  curse  to  the  convulsed  creature  who 
had  opened  it.  Instantly  the  sounds  became  sub- 


FLOWERS  THAT  WERE  NOT  GATHERED  79 

dued.  In  contrast  the  air  seemed  almost  quiet, 
except  for  the  racked  human  figure  who  coughed,  and 
coughed,  tearing  apart,  it  would  seem,  the  very  walls 
of  his  frail  body.  Maris  had,  at  first,  felt  the  faint, 
sickening  thrill  which  all  such  distress  had  power  to 
cause  her,  but  afterward,  compassion  made  her 
forget  her  own  repulsion,  and  she  leaned  over  with 
outstretched  hand,  wishing  to  speak  to  and  comfort 
the  suffering  creature.  Even  after  scrutiny  she  could 
not  determine  whether  it  was  a  small  and  shrivelled 
man,  or  a  young  boy,  prematurely  old.  The  coughing 
stopped  for  a  moment,  not  without  loss  of  blood,  and 
its  victim  sagged  against  the  wall,  utterly  spent, 
Maris,  pulling  her  veil  aside,  called  out  to  him.  He 
had  not  noticed  her  before.  Now,  after  one  glance 
at  the  sleek  buggy  and  its  occupant,  he  gave  a  fright- 
ened start,  flattened  himself  still  closer  to  the  wall, 
and,  with  a  sidling  motion  like  that  of  a  poisoned 
rat,  dragged  himself  by  inches  across  the  front  of 
the  mill,  and  disappeared  around  the  farther  end. 

Maris  herself  felt  ill,  and  faint,  and  poisoned.  Was 
it  such  misery  as  this  that  Ruth  was  hoping  to  alle- 
viate? And  could  there  be  other  such  wretches  in 
the  null? 

She  stared  upward  again  to  the  village,  and  saw, 
half-way  up  the  slope,  the  sick  man  (or  drunkard) 
she  had  passed.  His  face,  now  turned  to  her,  was  a 
red  blotch  no  larger  than  one's  finger  nail.  Again  she 
shuddered,  and  drew  her  eyes  away. 

From  around  the  corner  of  the  mill  a  horseman 
now  emerged,  and,  with  kicks  and  with  lashings  of  a 
long  rawhide  whip,  goaded  his  lean  animal  up  the 
uneven  slope  into  the  village.  At  sight  of  him  the 
man  on  the  porch  sat  up.  In  spite  of  her  repugnance, 
Maris  found  herself  watching  the  pantomime.  The 
horseman  rode  directly  to  that  cottage,  reining  his 


80  RED  HORSE  HILL 

steed  beside  the  steps.  The  figure  on  the  porch 
gave  a  few  languid  gestures  and  then,  as  if  suddenly 
roused  to  excitement,  rose  from  his  chair  and  wad- 
dled into  the  house.  An  instant  later  he  reappeared, 
dragging  a  little  girl. 

Maris  now  recognized  the  rider  as  a  "  Whipper-in," 
that  indispensable  employee  whose  chief  duty  it  is  to 
go  among  the  houses,  rousing  up  sick  or  truant  chil- 
dren, and  whipping  them  back  to  their  labor.  Even 
at  this  distance  the  child  seemed  weak,  —  unable, 
almost,  to  keep  upon  its  feet.  It  pleaded  with  the 
horseman  who,  in  turn,  referred  the  matter  to  the 
owner  of  the  house.  This  lordly  being  now  gave 
answer  by  a  terrific  blow  on  the  child's  head,  sending 
it  bodily  down  the  steps.  Maris  gave  a  scream  and 
shut  her  eyes.  Peggy,  taking  alarm,  darted  forward. 
By  the  time  the  animal  was  quiet,  and  Maris  ven- 
tured another  shuddering  look  in  the  direction  of 
the  cottage,  the  small  figure  was  on  its  feet,  running 
down  the  road,  closely  followed  by  the  whipper-in. 
Once  she  swerved  and,  it  would  seem,  was  trying  to 
escape.  With  a  dexterous  jerk  of  the  rein  the  rider 
was  before  her,  and  had  given  a  cruel  cut  with  his 
long  lash.  The  child,  now  crying  aloud  with  pain, 
came  straight  toward  the  mill.  Maris  could  hear 
the  thin  edge  of  its  wail  even  above  the  roar  of  the 
machines.  The  man  kept  close  behind.  Now  again 
the  whip  was  raised.  Maris  stood  straight  up  in  the 
buggy.  "  Don't  you  dare  touch  that  child  again," 
she  screamed.  "  My  husband  shall  discharge 
you!" 

At  this  moment  Alden  and  McGhee  came  out. 
"  Jim  Winch's  little  gal  been  playin'  hookey  again?  " 
remarked  the  latter,  as  he  glanced  casually  at  the 
child. 

"  He  was  beating  her,  as  if  she  had  been  a  dog! " 


FLOWERS  THAT  WERE  NOT  GATHERED  81 

cried    Maris,    now    shivering    from    head   to    foot. 
"  Dwight,  —  send  him  off,  —  discharge  him!  " 

McGhee  smiled  easily.  "  Not  him,  lady,"  he  said, 
after  his  customary  ejection  of  tobacco  fluid.  "  The 
ole  Reginy  couldn't  git  along  without  Mr.  Tate.  Best 
whipper-in  in  Dixie-land,  —  that's  what  Tate  is." 

Tate,  squirming  coyly  on  his  horse,  acknowledged 
the  tribute  with  a  sheepish  grin,  while  the  child, 
finding  herself  unnoticed,  slipped  in  by  the  small 
door  from  which  the  human  rat  had  emerged. 

"  You  will  do  nothing,  then?  "  asked  Maris  of  her 
husband.  She  had  pulled  down  the  long  green  veil, 
but  her  eyes  flashed  through  it. 

"  I  cannot  discuss  it  here,"  said  Dwight  in  a  low 
tone. 

Silently  they  started  out  upon  the  drive  so  long 
anticipated.  Joyousness  had  fled  from  Maris,  and 
she  sat  at  her  husband's  side,  silent  and  preoccupied. 

Once  Alden  forced  himself  to  speak  of  the  distress- 
ing scene  that  both  had  witnessed,  but  Maris  checked 
him  saying:  "  Not  now,  —  it  is  too  new." 

The  sun  was  swiftly  drying  the  surface  of  the  red 
clay  roads.  Peggy  went  lightly,  drawing  them  down 
violet  studded  slopes,  and  up  through  woodland 
copses  hung  in  golden  loops  of  jessamine.  But  Maris 
gathered  no  flowers  on  that  spring  day. 


CHAPTER  SIX 

A  MINOR  CRISIS 

ON  returning  from  the  drive,  Maris  pleaded  head- 
ache and  went  directly  to  her  room.  Neither  Dwight 
nor  Ruth  saw  her  again  until  that  evening  at  dinner 
where,  dressed  in  black,  her  pale  face  and  utter  lack 
of  appetite  fully  bore  out  her  previous  statement  of 
fatigue.  Ruth  had,  of  course,  believed  it  to  be 
merely  another  phase  of  evasion.  She  now  felt  a  little 
remorseful  and  ashamed.  There  was  a  third  sensa- 
tion, equally  unfamiliar,  in  wait  for  her.  Immediately 
after  dinner  Maris  drew  near,  put  her  arm  through 
that  of  Ruth,  and  asked  for  a  few  moments  alone  in 
Dwight's  study,  where  they  would  not  be  interrupted. 

Now  it  was  Ruth's  turn  to  shrink.  She  knew, 
instinctively,  that  it  was  of  Dr.  Page  Maris  wished  to 
speak,  and  did  not  relish  having  the  initiative  taken 
in  this  bold  manner.  Maris'  first  words  confirmed 
her  suspicions. 

"  Ruth,"  she  began  at  once,  "  I  don't  want  any 
misunderstandings  between  us  that  can  be  avoided. 
You  must  listen  to  me  quietly,  while  I  tell  you  the 
facts  of  my  brief  acquaintance  with  Dr.  Harvey 


"  He  is  my  friend,"  said  Ruth,  coldly.  "  Are  you 
sure  that  I  should  listen?  " 

Maris'  eyes  gave  just  one  flash.  "  I  speak,  not  in 
my  own  person,  but  as  your  brother's  wife,"  she 
answered,  gravely.  Her  manner  was  controlled, 


A  MINOR  CRISIS  83 

her  eyes  calm  and  steady.  Ruth  grudged  the  ad- 
miration she  could  not  withhold. 

"  Don't  make  the  mistake,"  she  said,  now  rather 
hurriedly,  "  of  thinking  my  friendship  for  Dr.  Page 
other  than  it  is." 

"  I'll  try  to  avoid  that  particular  mistake,"  said 
Maris,  with  an  intonation  and  fleeting  smile  that 
made  Ruth  feel  somewhat  young  and  foolish.  "  Shall 
we  not  sit  down?  " 

They  seated  themselves  near  the  corner  of  the 
great,  flat  library  table,  spread  smooth  with  dull 
green  morocco,  and  edged  with  a  heavy  carved 
border  of  mahogany.  From  this  instant,  the  funda- 
mental differences  hi  temperament  and  character 
of  the  two  were  plainly  demonstrated.  Ruth  sat 
upright,  her  shoulders  touching  the  wood  of  the  chair- 
back,  her  slim,  cool  hands  lying  motionless  in  her 
lap.  Maris,  on  the  contrary,  bent  forward,  her  left 
elbow  on  the  table,  her  left  hand  now  propping 
her  cheek,  now  flung  out  across  the  table,  her  right 
tracing  nervously  the  carved  pattern  of  the  border. 
Yet  her  words,  when  she  spoke,  were  as  straight- 
forward as  any  Ruth  could  have  chosen. 

"  While  I  was  ill  in  St.  Raymond's  hospital,  and 
before  I  dreamed  that  your  brother  cared  enough 
for  me  to  ask  me  to  be  his  wife,  this  young  Dr.  Page 
had  a  sort  of  boyish  fancy  for  me." 

"  Dr.  Page  is  now  nearly  twenty-nine;  and  you 
have  been  married  to  my  brother  just  three  years," 
said  Ruth. 

"  I  see  your  inference,"  answered  the  other;  "  and 
yet  I  repeat  that  this  fancy  was  immature.  Perhaps, 
—  I  -  "  here  she  caught  her  lip  for  an  instant  then 
went  on  bravely:  "Perhaps  —  I  —  tried  to  draw 
out  his  feeling,  —  to  comfort  myself  with  his  gener- 
ous sympathy.  I  was  very  unhappy  at  the  time,  — 


84  RED  HORSE  HILL 

very  lonely,  —  and  when  one  has  been  ill  a  long, 
long  time  — "  she  checked  herself,  suddenly,  for 
Ruth's  hardening  face  was  saying  that  this  was  not 
the  time  or  place  to  work  upon  her  sympathies. 

"  Why  should  you  take  for  granted  that  I  am  in- 
terested, either  in  your  sentiments  or  those  of  Dr. 
Page?  "  the  girl  asked,  relentlessly. 

For  a  moment  Maris  was  utterly  taken  aback. 
Ruth's  eyes  were  gleaming  at  her  through  visor-bars 
of  steel.  If  she  faltered  now,  never  again  would  she 
have  the  courage  to  front  this  young  Amazon.  What 
feeble  weapons  she  had  possessed  Maris  threw  down. 
Her  hope  now  lay  in  her  own  sincerity,  and  in  the 
latent  woman-heart  of  Ruth.  "  Because,  dear  Ruth," 
she  pleaded,  rather  than  spoke,  "  I  know  that  he  is 
fine,  and  honorable  and  good.  I  know,  too,  that  if 
you  have  let  him  get  even  a  glimpse  of  the  real  Ruth, 
he  must  care  for  you.  You  two  are  suited,  abso- 
lutely —  " 

"  This  is  intolerable! "  cried  Ruth,  springing  to 
her  feet. 

But  Maris  was  not  daunted.  "  And  more  than 
this,  I  know,"  she  cried,  "  that  of  all  the  world  can 
give,  love  is  the  best.  You  may  not  wish  to  believe 
it  now,  —  but  it  is  true!  "  Her  voice  thrilled  with 
the  passion  of  which  she  spoke.  "  Don't  find  it 
out  too  late,  Ruth.  It  is  your  birthright,  it  is  your 
glory.  No  intellectual  pride  can  fill  the  place  of  it! 
Love  is  the  best,  —  the  only  good!  " 

"  No  one  has  ever  spoken  like  this  to  me,"  said 
Ruth,  still  angrily,  though  her  eyes  had  softened. 

"  No  one,  perhaps,  has  cared,  just  as  I  want  to 
care  for  you,  if  only  you  will  let  me." 

"  I  believe  that  you  mean  well,  Maris,"  said  the 
girl,  still  more  gently.  "  But  you  do  not  understand 
a  nature  reserved  and  centred,  as  mine  is.  My  life 


A  MINOR  CRISIS  85 

must  be  ordered  by  myself  alone.  I  cannot  be  inter- 
fered with  by  any  outside  person,  —  not  even  my 
brother.  With  regard  to  Dr.  Page,  I  told  you  before, 
he  is  merely  a  friend.  I  like  him  greatly.  I  believe 
he  has  a  mission.  As  to  your  past  intimacy  with  him 
and  its  present  status,  —  I  must  judge  that,  also, 
for  myself,  and  after  my  own  methods."  She  was 
standing  near  the  door,  her  hand  on  the  knob. 

Maris  had  not  risen.  "  And  all  that  I  have  said 
to  you  makes  no  difference  at  all?  "  she  asked,  de- 
spairingly. 

"  I  am  afraid  not,  —  as  you  meant  it,"  said  Ruth. 
"  But  I  feel  that  you  are  sincere,  and  I  appreciate 
the  effort.  Believe  me,  dear  Maris,  I  appreciate  the 
effort."  She  went,  now,  closing  the  door  behind  her 
as  one  goes  from  a  sick-room. 

Maris,  alone,  stared  out  through  the  nearest  win- 
dow into  the  night.  The  curved  back  of  Red  Horse 
Hill  cut  its  swart  rim  against  the  yellow  stars.  In 
Ruth's  last  words,  lurked,  unmistakably,  a  challenge. 
They  meant  that  she  would  wait  until  her  friend 
arrived,  and  watch,  as  one  watches  a  chemical  experi- 
ment, his  meeting  with  a  woman  whom  he  once  had 
loved.  That  he  had  no  hint  of  her  identity,  or  her 
married  relationship  to  Ruth,  Maris  was  now  con- 
vinced. Alden  is  not  an  unusual  name  either  hi 
New  England  or  New  York.  Both  were  to  be  tested, 
deliberately,  inhumanly  (or  so  it  seemed  to  Maris), 
and  not  for  the  sake  of  love,  rather  of  prudence.  The 
whole  procedure  was  so  cold,  so  scientific,  that  Maris' 
soul  rebelled.  "  She's  not  worth  saving! "  cried 
Maris  to  herself.  "  Let  her  dry  up  into  a  mummy. 
Any  man  with  a  heart  would  be  too  good  for  her! " 
She  rose  now,  walking  impatiently  up  and  down. 
Well,  she  had  done  what  she  could.  Further  worry- 
ing over  Ruth's  emotional  affairs  was  useless.  There 


86  RED  HORSE  HILL 

were  immediate  problems  of  her  own  that  must  be 
solved.  Harvey  was  to  come,  and  unprepared. 
What,  for  herself,  was  to  be  the  result  of  such  a 
meeting,  —  of  this  spiritual  vivisection?  Here,  after 
all,  was  the  burning  core  of  the  situation.  Harvey 
Page  knew  what  her  own  husband  did  not  know,  — 
that  she  had  been  a  married  woman  under  her 
maiden  name  of  Maris  Brue. 

As  it  happened,  —  and  fate  delights,  at  times,  in 
such  capers,  —  Dr.  Page  had  been  the  one  to  bring 
to  her  bedside  a  certain  document  from  the  West. 
Upon  reading  it  and  realizing  her  deliverance  from 
a  detested  bond,  she  had  become  excited  to  the  point 
of  hysteria.  He  had  been  the  one  to  calm  her,  and 
in  the  reaction  she  had  confided  the  story  of  her 
suffering.  Even  the  name  of  the  nurse  girl,  Jane 
Rumbough,  had  not  been  withheld.  She  wished  now 
that  she  had  been  stricken  dumb. 

After  that  hour  neither  had  referred  to  her  dis- 
closure, but  Maris'  strength  had  rebounded  as  though 
she  were  lifted  from  foul  depths  to  the  freedom  of 
hope;  while  the  young  doctor  grew,  day  by  day, 
more  kind,  and  more  openly  in  love.  Soon  she  could 
sit  by  her  window  and  receive  visitors.  Most  con- 
stant among  these  came  to  be  Dwight  Alden,  junior 
partner  of  the  firm  where  she  had  worked.  She  began 
to  realize,  incredulously,  at  first,  that  he,  too,  cared 
for  her;  but  she  was  entirely  honest  in  what  she  said 
both  to  Dr.  Singleterry  and  to  Ruth,  that  she  did 
not  believe  he  would  ever  ask  her  to  be  his  wife. 

Then  came  the  wonderful  day  when  he  had 
done  so,  offering  all  that  an  honorable  love  has  to 
give.  She  remembered  at  this  moment  her  sudden 
flush  of  joy,  her  feeling  of  safety,  —  the  short,  sharp, 
futile  struggle  to  tell  him  at  once  the  sad  history 
of  her  past;  and,  later  on,  the  unpalatable  necessity 


A  MINOR  CRISIS  87 

of  announcing  to  Harvey  Page  her  sudden  engage- 
ment. As  if  it  had  been  yesterday  she  recalled  the 
flare  of  anger,  followed  by  a  dazed  look  of  pain  that 
turned  his  blue  eyes  black.  He  had  not  reproached 
her  by  a  word,  only  turned  from  her  in  silence.  That 
was  three  years  ago,  and  she  had  neither  seen  nor 
heard  from  him  since.  What  were  his  feelings  now? 
Did  he  both  hate  and  scorn  her,  or  had  he,  perhaps, 
forgotten?  Maris  knew  in  her  heart  that  he  was  not 
one  easily  to  forget,  nor,  perhaps,  to  forgive.  And  if 
he  now  loved  Ruth!  It  might  be  that  he  would  feel 
it  his  duty  to  warn  Ruth  of  her  sister-in-law's  du- 
plicity, and  try  to  ascertain  at  once  whether  the 
truth  were  ever  told  to  Alden.  Serious  people  like 
Page  and  Ruth  had  queer  ideas  of  their  duty.  Maris 
shuddered  at  the  thought. 

If  she  could  only  meet  him  first,  or  warn  him. 
She  began  to  brew,  hastily,  foolish  little  plans  for  the 
accomplishment  of  this  end,  only  to  throw  the  lot 
away  in  self  disgust.  "  No,  I  must  face  it,  as  I  may 
have  to  face  worse  things,"  she  told  herself,  fiercely. 
"  I  must  dree  my  weird,  —  but,  I'll  hide  myself  from 
the  furies  as  long  as  there  is  a  niche  to  hide  in." 

"  Maris,"  said  her  husband's  voice  at  the  door, 
"  are  you  in  there,  in  the  dark?  " 

"  I'm  not  in  the  dark  now,"  cried  Maris,  running 
to  the  door  and  flinging  it  wide.  She  grasped  her 
husband's  arm,  then  reached  down  for  his  hand, 
pressing  it  against  her  cheek,  and  afterwards,  to  her 
lips.  "  Let  us  go  back  to  the  parlor.  I  tried  to  speak 
to  Ruth  about  Dr.  Page,  but  she  wouldn't  have  it. 
Please  don't  refer  to  it  again." 

"  You  bet  I  won't,"  said  Dwight,  laughing.  "  I 
don't  see  how  you  dared." 

When  they  crossed  the  hall,  Ruth  was  still  in  the 
drawing-room,  and  began,  at  once,  a  discussion  with 


88  RED  HORSE  HILL 

her  brother  as  to  the  relative  importance  of  nutrition 
and  breathing  in  the  reclaiming  of  degenerates. 

Three  days  after,  they  read,  in  the  Sidon  Daily 
News,  of  the  arrival  at  Putnam's  Hotel  of  Dr.  Harvey 
Page  of  New  York  City.  A  brief  paragraph  told  of  the 
object  of  this  Southern  visit,  and  of  the  eminence 
already  attained  by  the  young  doctor  in  surgery,  as 
well  as  in  the  study  of  tubercular  diseases.  The  notice 
ended  with  the  words:  "  Sidon  extends  a  welcome  to 
the  doctor,  and  hopes  that  the  sight  of  so  many 
pretty  faces  will  drive  from  his  mind  the  unlovely 
images  of  germs." 

"  Let's  have  him  up  to  dinner,  at  once,  to-night! 
People  appreciate  it  so  much  more  while  they  are 
strange  and  lonely,"  said  Maris,  addressing  her 
husband.  There  were  times  when  even  Maris  longed 
to  hasten  the  inevitable. 

Ruth's  head  was  lifted  above  her  mail,  —  her 
even  tones  rang  out.  "  Perhaps,  since  I  am  the  only 
member  of  the  family  with  whom  he  is  in  personal 
correspondence,  the  invitation  should  come  from 
me." 

The  eyes  of  Maris  met  her  fairly.  They  had  no 
look  of  enmity  or  reproach,  only  they  were  discon- 
certingly intelligent.  Ruth  was  annoyed  to  feel 
herself  flushing. 

"Sure!"  said  Dwight  heartily,  to  his  sister. 
''  Maris  and  I  will  be  glad  to  get  out  of  the  writing. 
Won't  we,  Maris?  " 

"  Then  to-night  it  is,"  said  Maris,  not  answering 
her  husband's  question,  except  by  a  nod  and  smile. 
"  And  I  must  go  plan  the  dinner  with  Aunt  Mandy, 
before  all  the  vegetable  and  other  wagons  have  gone 
by." 

During  the  forenoon  Ruth  was  strangely  restless. 
Immediately  after  luncheon,  she  announced  her  in- 


A  MINOR  CRISIS  89 

tention  of  making  her  first  mill  visit,  choosing  a 
recently  built  factoiy  to  the  west  of  the  city,  the 
"  Regina  "  being  to  the  east. 

Through  the  foresight  of  the  active  committee 
which  she  represented,  Ruth  had  been  furnished  with 
letters  of  introduction  to  various  mill  owners.  She 
took  such  a  letter  with  her  now,  more  as  a  precaution 
than  a  necessity.  She  had  no  doubt  that  her  request, 
backed  by  the  good  cause  for  which  she  was  working, 
would  open  all  doors.  Added  to  this,  the  easy-going 
and  chivalrous  manner  to  women  of  all  classes  of 
men  in  the  South  made  assurance  doubly  sure.  It 
was  thus  a  thunderbolt  when,  upon  knocking  for 
admission  at  the  Ajax  Cotton  Mill,  she  was  con- 
fronted by  a  burly  ruffian  who  told  her  to  "  git  out," 
as  he  had  orders  "  Not  to  let  no  mischief-makin' 
Yankee  women  into  them  mills." 

Almost  suffocated  with  anger  and  indignation  at 
this  her  first  insult,  Ruth  hurried  back  home.  For  the 
relief  of  it,  she  searched  out  Maris,  and  related  the 
adventure.  Unfortunately,  Ruth's  manner  of  telling 
it,  her  vigorous  epithets  of  "  bounder,"  "  rum-soaked 
lout,"  and  "  uncivilized  clod,"  proved  too  much  for  the 
listener's  sense  of  humor.  Ruth  being  herself  un- 
troubled by  that  particular  spark,  made  no  allow- 
ances. She  flaunted  from  the  room,  less  mistress  of 
herself  than  Maris  had  ever  seen  her. 

"  An  unfavorable  time  for  my  test,"  thought 
Maris,  when  the  laughter  had  spent  itself.  "  But  it 
can't  be  helped."  Now  that  the  hour  was  near,  Maris 
longed  to  have  it  over.  It  was  characteristic  of  her 
that  although  she  cringed  and  shivered  at  an  ap- 
proaching crisis  while  it  was  at  a  distance,  her  courage 
increased  with  its  nearness. 

To-night  while  dressing  for  dinner  she  was  in 
radiant  spirits,  and  by  her  sallies  through  her  boudoir 


90  RED  HORSE  HILL 

door  kept  Dwight  in  such  continual  fits  of  laughter 
that  he  spoiled  two  ties  and  had  to  demand  her 
assistance  with  a  third. 

She  had  chosen  to  dress  again  all  in  black,  though 
this  time  the  small  open  square  at  the  neck  gave  a 
look  of  distinction  as  well  as  coquetry.  It  was  her 
desire  to  seem  frail  and  appealing  in  the  visitor's 
sight.  She  explained  this  fact  elaborately  to  Dwight, 
saying  that  she  was  utterly  ashamed  of  herself  for 
having  encouraged  the  attentions  of  so  worthy  a 
youth  only  to  discard  them  at  the  first  hint  of  a 
better  man,  and  she  was  more  than  willing  for  both 
Ruth  and  Dr.  Page  to  recognize  her  attitude  of  re- 
morse. Now,  gazing  in  the  mirror  over  Dwight's 
shoulder,  she  affected  great  concern  because  of  her 
eyes  being  so  bright  and  the  blood  in  her  cheeks  so 
warm.  She  tried  to  remedy  the  latter  charming 
defect  by  a  thick  application  of  powder. 

"  Ah,"  she  cried,  pausing  in  the  midst  of  this 
operation,  "  there's  the  bell.  He's  come.  Ruth's 
already  in  the  parlor,  isn't  she?  " 

"  You  may  be  sure  she  is,"  laughed  Dwight. 

"  Let  me  go  down  alone  to  them,  —  just  for  a 
moment,"  she  pleaded.  "  I  think  it  will  be  easier 
for  Ruth." 

"  You  misapprehend  Ruth's  emotional  nature, 
my  dear,"  he  said.  "  But  it's  all  right  if  you  wish 
it.  How  long  am  I  to  remain  in  limbo?  " 

"  Only  as  long  as  one  of  those  tiniest  cigars  with  a 
gold  tip,"  she  laughed. 

He  smiled  in  response,  drew  out  the  cigar,  flung 
himself  into  a  chair  with  a  long  sigh  to  denote  resig- 
nation, and  thought  she  had  already  left  the  room, 
when  suddenly  he  felt  her  arms  about  him.  "  Dear,  - 
dearest,  —  dearest,  —  of  all  things,"  she  whispered 
breathlessly,  "I  love  you,  —  I  love  you,  —  I  love 


A  MINOR  CRISIS  91 

you! "  She  crushed  her  face  against  his,  then  drew 
back  with  a  little  cry.  "  Now  I've  gone  and  rubbed 
all  the  powder  off  one  cheek!  Never  mind,  I'll  keep 
the  whited-sepulchre  side  toward  him!" 

Now  she  was  off,  leaving  her  husband  to  brush 
the  powder  and  the  tobacco  of  his  demolished  cigar 
from  his  evening  coat.  He  smiled  and  sighed  in  one. 
"  Who  ever  heard  of  a  woman  like  this?  I  shall  never 
understand  her,"  said  Dwight  to  himself.  After 
a  moment,  he  added:  "  Hang  it,  why  should  I  wish 
to  try?  " 

In  the  long  drawing-room  down-stairs,  young  Dr. 
Page  and  Ruth  stood  on  the  hearth-rug,  very  close 
together;  and  both  seemed  to  be  talking,  asking 
questions,  and  laughing  at  the  same  moment.  The 
young  man  did  not  hear  Maris  enter,  so  softly  and 
slowly  she  trailed  her  long  black  robe;  but  Ruth 
heard,  and  though  she  kept  her  gray  eyes  lifted  to 
the  eager  face  above  her,  Maris  had  a  curious  sen- 
sation that  the  girl  possessed  a  second  pair  of  eyes, 
invisible  to  ordinary  mortals,  and  that  with  these 
she  coolly  watched  her  sister-in-law's  approach. 

At  this  Maris  deliberately  deflected  her  course  to 
the  right,  so  that  she  came  up  almost  behind  Page, 
standing  at  his  elbow  before  he  knew  it. 

"  Dr.  Page,"  she  said  softly  but  very  clearly, 
"  I  am  Maris  Brue  whom  you  knew  at  the  hos- 
pital, and  who  married  Mr.  Dwight  Alden,  Ruth's 
brother." 

In  his  involuntary  start  and  impetuous  wheel  in 
the  direction  of  the  remembered  voice,  his  back  was, 
necessarily,  turned  on  Ruth.  That  astute  young 
woman  gave  a  small  grin  of  appreciation.  She  had 
no  sense  of  humor,  but  wit,  being  more  purely  a 
thing  of  intellect,  delighted  her.  She  did  not  be- 
grudge a  "  rise  "  taken  so  neatly.  To  the  other  two, 


92  RED  HORSE  HILL 

however,  the  matter  had  no  hint  of  comedy.  "  Really, 
I  had  no  idea,"  Page  was  beginning  stiffly. 

"  Of  course  you  had  not.  Why  should  Ruth  ever 
have  happened  to  mention  an  insignificant  being 
like  myself,  especially  when  she  had  no  idea  that  you 
had  ever  heard  my  name,  —  Maris  Brue." 

Her  repetition  of  this  full  name  showed  Page  what 
to  avoid.  He  was  mastering  rapidly  his  first  surprise; 
a  look  of  anger  and  mistrust  rose  slowly  to  his  face. 
In  a  moment  Ruth  must  see  it. 

"  Just  a  word  more,  —  Dr.  Page,"  said  Maris,  put- 
ting what  pleading  she  dared  into  her  voice,  "  I  want 
you  to  know  that  I  have  spoken  to  Ruth  of  your  great 
kindness  to  me  in  the  hospital,  and  admitted  to  her, 
with  shame,  the  poor  return  I  gave.  Is  it  not  possible, 
now,  to  let  that  pass  forever?  to  begin  again  as 
acquaintances,  —  only  this  time,  I  am  merely  Ruth's 
sister  and  her  brother's  wife?  " 

She  held  out  her  hand.  Upon  his  taking  or  reject- 
ing it  depended  everything.  He  hesitated.  A  little 
humming  noise  came  into  Maris'  ears;  she  could 
feel  the  red  drain  from  her  cheeks  and  lips.  She 
moved  a  few  inches  so  that  her  face  was  hidden 
from  Ruth  by  the  man's  broad  shoulder.  Now  she 
looked  squarely  up  to  him,  letting  the  fear  of  the 
moment  show  in  her  wonderful  eyes.  "  Don't  —  hurt 
—  me,"  her  lips  said,  soundlessly. 

She  had  found  the  way.  It  was  the  old,  old  cry 
to  a  scientist  from  a  suffering,  helpless  creature  in  his 
power.  He  took  the  outstretched  hand.  "  Since 
you  ask  it,  Mrs.  Alden,  this  is  our  first  meeting," 
he  said  coldly,  but  the  words  were  enough  for  Maris. 

With  the  entrance  of  Mr.  Alden,  and  under  the 
influence  of  his  hearty  welcome  and  reassuring  pres- 
ence, all  awkwardness  was  put  to  flight.  From  every 
point  of  view  the  dinner  was  a  success.  Never  during 


A  MINOR  CRISIS  93 

her  long  and  triumphant  career  had  Aunt  Mandy 
made  more  incredible  "  gumbo  file,"  better  scalloped 
oysters,  or  fried  young  chickens  a  more  delicious 
brown.  The  hostess,  it  is  true,  ate  nothing,  but  that 
gave  her  the  greater  opportunity  for  charming  cour- 
tesies to  her  guest. 

The  conversation  turned,  as  was  inevitable,  on 
the  great  problem  of  "  Labor  "  which  had  brought  the 
two  young  people  to  the  South.  Dwight  fell  into 
the  arguments,  giving  those  most  plausible  from  the 
employers'  point  of  view.  The  others  (Maris  always 
remaining  silent),  opposed  him  chiefly  on  the  account 
of  what  is  loosely  termed  "  child  labor,"  and  each 
brought  forward  examples  of  negligence  and  over- 
work that  turned  one  heart,  at  least,  cold  and  sick 
within  her.  The  color  had  never  come  back  fully 
to  Maris'  cheeks,  and  now,  though  unconscious  of 
attainment,  she  had  fully  realized  her  wish  to  seem 
frail  and  appealing.  She  tried  not  to  listen.  The 
words  began  to  flow  and  reverberate  together  as  the 
sounds  of  the  great  mill  had  flowed.  Slowly,  without 
conscious  volition,  she  was  borne  along  with  the 
hypnotic  vibrations.  Now  clearly  before  her  eyes 
was  set  the  red  slope  of  a  hill  terraced  with  empty 
cottages.  She  gazed  again,  with  the  same  peculiar 
shrinking,  upon  a  formless  heap  of  garments  which 
she  knew  for  a  sick  drunkard  nodding  in  the  sun; 
she  watched  the  long,  scrawny  whipper-in  upon  his 
scrawny  horse,  and  saw  the  two  men  drive,  with 
curses  and  cruel  blows,  one  helpless  girl-child  back 
to  slavery.  "  Don't  strike  her!  Don't  you  dare 
touch  that  child  again!"  she  screamed,  springing 
up  and  pointing  wildly. 

The  others  rushed  to  her.  Dwight  caught  her  in 
his  arms,  while  Page,  all  scientist  now  and  cool 
physician,  reached  for  a  fluttering  wrist. 


94  RED  HORSE  HILL 

"  0,  do  not  trouble,"  gasped  Maris,  taking  her 
hand  away,  and  sinking  back  into  her  chair.  She 
tried  to  laugh,  asking  them  to  forgive  her  for  making 
such  a  spectacle  of  herself.  "  I  was  only  dreaming 
awake,"  she  said.  "  It  was  a  terrible  dream,  but  it's 
over  now." 

"  My  poor  little  Maris,  my  poor  dear,"  Dwight 
whispered,  bending  close  to  her  that  the  others 
might  not  hear  his  words.  "  I  wish  I  had  never  taken 
you  within  a  thousand  miles  of  that  cursed  mill." 

Page  had  drawn  back,  but  was  still  watching  her 
with  keen  eyes. 

"  I  fear  that  my  brother's  wife  has  an  excess  of 
temperament,"  said  Ruth,  with  an  attempt  to  speak 
lightly.  Her  voice  did  not  sound  kind. 

"  Dwight,  Dwight,"  whispered  Maris,  "  hold  my 
hand  hard,  very  hard,  —  until  you  hurt  me.  I  must 
not  lose  myself  like  this  again." 

There  was  a  silence.  The  younger  people,  ex- 
changing glances,  were  about  to  turn  away,  when 
Maris,  to  the  surprise  of  all,  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"  My  temperament  is  overthrown,"  she  cried. 
"  Now  what  do  you  all  say  to  a  game  of  bridge?  " 


CHAPTER   SEVEN 

AN   APPARITION  FROM  THE   PAST 

DR.  SINGLETERRY  knelt  on  the  walk  of  his  tiny 
garden,  weeding  pinks.  The  motions  of  his  long, 
white  fingers  were  angular,  deliberate,  exact,  for  his 
task  presented  difficulties.  Among  the  blue-green 
spikes  of  legitimate  foliage  upthrust  usurping  timothy, 
and  the  still  more  deceptive  spears  of  vigorous  nut- 
grass,  offering  so  crafty  a  simulation  of  good  faith  that 
one  must  trace  it  to  the  very  earth  level  and  beneath 
before  daring  to  extract  it. 

To  root  out  chickweed  was  simple  enough.  It 
offered  no  problems  and  little  resistance,  coming  up 
entire  in  a  round  green  mat  sprinkled  with  white 
stars  for  blossoms.  So,  too,  with  the  lesser  celadine, 
beloved  of  Wordsworth,  and  for  that  reason  the  more 
beloved  of  the  old  minister.  Indeed  with  every  up- 
rooting, except  that  of  the  hated  nut-grass,  the 
weeder  was  conscious  of  a  small  thrill  of  pain.  To 
destroy  a  dandelion  was  positive  torture. 

There  was,  in  Orbury,  the  tradition  that  once  he 
had  devoted  an  inconspicuous  garden-bed  to  the 
replanting  of  what  he  called  "  floral  rejectimenta." 
He  would  not  admit  the  existence  of  so  gross  a  thing 
as  a  weed,  and  to  prove  the  argument  would  refer 
to  the  experience  of  a  friend  who  had  gone  as  mis- 
sionary to  Japan,  and  who  had  to  clear  his  garden, 
eveiy  spring,  of  riotous  forget-me-nots  and  orchids. 

As  Dr.  Singleterry  worked,  sniffing  in  delight  at  the 


96  RED  HORSE  HILL 

fragrance  of  his  pinks,  now  pausing  to  enjoy  more 
consciously  the  warmth  of  the  spring  sun,  his  mind 
was  drifting  idly  to  and  fro.  And  usually  it  fared  in 
pleasant  currents,  for  he  was  something  yet  of  poet 
and  philosopher,  in  spite  of  the  human  suffering  to 
which  he  had  ministered.  He  was  thinking  now  of 
that  Orbury  garden  of  the  past,  where  great  choirs 
of  beauty  and  of  fragrance  had  answered  to  his  care. 
Among  the  banks  of  flowers  a  little  figure  moved,  that 
of  Maris,  the  motherless  child  of  his  best  friend, 
Daniel  Brue.  Now  tenderly  he  let  himself  recall 
quaint  sayings  of  the  child,  and  happenings  which 
both  he  and  the  doting  father  had  believed  to  in- 
dicate unusual  intelligence.  Once,  on  receiving  a 
small  watering-pot,  shining  and  gay  with  paint,  she 
had  lain  awake  much  of  the  night  in  her  impatience  for 
morning  to  come  that  she  might  use  it.  When,  after 
a  short  troubled  sleep  she  had  waked  to  hear  the 
downfall  of  a  shower,  she  had  gone  to  her  father, 
crying:  "  I  don't  thank  God  a  bit  for  watering  all 
the  flowers  before  I  got  there."  At  the  age  of  eight, 
in  her  first  tumult  of  theologic  doubts,  she  had  given 
away  most  of  her  possessions  to  the  darkies,  including 
all  of  her  dresses  but  the  one  she  wore,  and  had  wan- 
dered out  into  the  forest  to  see  whether  the  ravens 
would  feed  her  as  they  did  Elijah.  At  night  the 
search-party  had  traced  her  by  the  sound  of  hysterical 
sobbing.  No  ravens  had  appeared,  she  had  nearly 
stepped  on  a  huge  black  snake  which  she  was  sure 
was  the  devil  in  disguise,  and  her  faith,  generally, 
had  received  a  shock  from  which  it  was  slow  to 
recover. 

He  himself  had  been  of  that  search-party,  and  the 
first  to  reach  the  shivering  culprit.  He  saw  now,  as 
though  it  was  before  him,  the  small  white  face,  the 
upraised  terror-darkened  eyes,  and  the  quivering 


AN  APPARITION  FROM  THE  PAST     97 

lips.  The  woman,  Maris  Alden,  had  even  yet,  at 
times,  the  look  of  that  frightened  child.  No  longer 
did  the  old  man's  thoughts  drift  peaceably.  The 
smile  of  reminiscence  died  on  his  face.  The  present 
Maris,  and  all  the  menace  of  her  position,  claimed 
him.  She  had  come  to  him  the  night  before,  saying 
that  she  must  speak  to  some  one  who  knew  her  story, 
or  go  mad.  Ruth  and  the  young  doctor,  it  seemed, 
were  already  deep  in  the  statistics  of  child  labor. 
They  talked  of  nothing  else.  Even  her  husband, 
Mr.  Alden,  was  being  drawn  into  it.  Each  day 
there  were  new  instances,  new  examples  of  cruelty 
and  suffering  so  hideous  to  hear,  that  Maris,  with 
difficulty,  kept  back  her  scream  of  protest.  "  And 
by  my  own  folly,  I  am  bound  to  this  silence,"  she 
cried  to  him,  desperately.  "  I  must  sit  by  with 
a  smooth  face  while  every  torture  they  depict  seems 
to  be  put,  fresh,  upon  the  body  of  my  lost  child. 
When  I  saw,  last  week,  that  wretched  baby  lashed 
down  the  hill  like  a  dog,  it  was  on  Felicia's  back 
and  on  mine,  the  blows  fell.  Because  I  do  not  know 
where  she  is,  I  suffer  for  her  in  every  suffering  child. 
I  cannot  live  here.  I  shall  die  under  it!  " 

He  comforted  her  the  little  that  he  could.  With 
Maris  he  needed  always  to  remind  himself  that  she 
was  a  sinner,  living  consciously  with  deceit  and  lies, 
and,  even  so,  the  next  quiver  of  her  lip  would  melt 
his  heart,  and  make  him  yearn  only  to  soothe  what 
he  could  not  help. 

The  old  man's  hand  trembled  a  little,  and  he  drew 
a  long,  long  sigh.  Then  he  started  forward  with  an 
exclamation  of  dismay.  He  had  uprooted  a  blossom- 
ing bush  of  pinks.  Now  he  sighed  for  a  more  material 
cause.  The  bush  must  be  transplanted  at  once.  He 
sat  back  on  his  heels  upon  the  walk,  drew  out  an  old 
pocket  knife,  carefully  cut  off  each  flower  stalk  and 


98  RED  HORSE  HILL 

the  coarser  leaves,  dug  the  earth  deeper  in  the  scar 
where  the  bush  had  been,  and  set  it  back,  patting 
and  pressing  the  outraged  roots  with  a  tenderness 
that  only  the  garden-lover  can  attain.  Now  he  rose 
stiffly  to  go  indoors  and  get  some  water  for  it.  He 
could  have  called  either  one  of  the  two  servants, 
but,  with  such  a  man,  gardening  is  not  labor,  but 
love.  He  would  have  resented  any  hireling  bringing 
the  water  for  a  plant  which  he  had  uprooted  and 
then  reset.  He  went  to  the  rear  of  the  house,  and 
seeing  a  glass  pitcher  half  filled,  brought  it  through 
the  hallway  to  the  front.  Just  as  he  stepped  down 
again  into  the  garden,  the  sound  of  feet,  running 
as  if  pursued,  came  faintly  from  the  lower  slope 
of  the  hill.  He  looked  closely  for  a  moment,  and  saw 
that  it  was  a  mill  woman,  bareheaded,  and  alone, 
running  frantically.  It  would  be  several  moments 
before  she  could  reach  him,  even  at  this  swift  speed, 
so  he  leaned  over  carefully,  and  began  dripping  the 
water  in  a  ring,  about  his  plant.  He  heard  the 
runner  nearing. 

"  Is  that  Yankee  doctor  here?  "  she  gasped,  before 
she  reached  him.  "  I've  been  to  his  hotel.  He  ain't 
there!" 

There  were  still  a  few  drops  to  be  put  in  the  heart 
of  the  plant.  "  No,  you'll  find  him  at  the  Aldens', 
I  think.  You  know,  —  the  Brattle  house  yonder,  — 
on  the  next  hill." 

He  turned  to  her,  full,  now,  of  interest  in  her  dis- 
tress. "  What  has  befallen  —  "he  began.  Then  the 
glass  pitcher  fell  and  broke.  "  My  good  God!  Jane 
Rumbough! " 

The  woman  threw  up  an  arm,  crooking  the  elbow 
to  hide  her  face. 

"  What  yer  givin'  us?  "  she  laughed  rudely.  "  Jane 
nothin'.  I'm  Winch's  wife,  —  Sally  Winch.  Is  that 


AN  APPARITION  FROM  THE  PAST     99 

the  Brattle  house,  —  that  place  with  stone  posts?  " 
Already  she  was  hurrying  away  from  him. 

"  Stop,  —  a  moment!  "  he  cried  out.  "  Is  any  one 
hurt  badly  in  the  mills?  " 

"  Only  a  kid  crushed  to  jelly.  Nothin'  much! 
My  kid!"  she  called  back  to  him,  without  turning 
her  face. 

The  old  man  staggered  back  against  the  wall  of 
his  study.  For  once  the  flower  beds  were  trodden 
upon.  He  had  no  eyes  but  for  that  thin,  defiant 
figure,  already  in  the  dip  of  valley,  now  mounting  the 
slope  of  the  next  red  hill;  no  conscious  thought  except 
for  the  soundless  repetition  of  the  one  name,  —  "  Jane 
Rumbough  —  Jane  Rumbough  —  Jane  Rumbough." 

The  woman  was  at  the  Aldens'  gate,  and  now  was 
at  the  door.  A  new  thought,  like  a  pain,  drove 
through  the  old  man's  stupor.  Jane  Rumbough,  — 
and  he  had  sent  her  to  the  house  of  Maris  Brue! 

He  stretched  his  hand  out,  as  if  to  call  her  back; 
then  the  limp  arm  fell  heavily.  He  could  no  longer 
stand.  In  some  way  he  found  the  study  steps,  and 
sat  upon  them,  bareheaded,  oblivious  of  his  own  tragic 
attitude,  and  of  the  curious  glances  of  the  passer-by. 

It  was  Jane  Rumbough  beyond  all  doubt,  though 
older,  thinner,  and  with  marks  of  poverty  and 
misery  upon  her.  She  worked  here  in  the  mill, — 
in  Alden's  mill,  and  it  was  her  child  that  was  hurt. 
These  facts  he  repeated  more  than  once,  and  gradually 
a  future  line  of  reasoning  cleared  before  him.  Jane, 
when  she  went  from  Orbury  with  the  beast  that 
had  been  Maris'  husband,  had  no  child.  Even  if 
one  were  born  to  them  in  sin,  that  was  but  seven 
years  ago,  too  young,  it  would  seem,  for  the  most 
careless  mill  to  accept.  But  that  was  Jane  Rum- 
bough,  and  she  said  it  was  her  child,  "  crushed  to  a 
jelly."  Now,  what  to  think! 


100  RED  HORSE  HILL 

The  silver  head  fell  over  to  the  minister's  shaking 
hands.  He  gave  a  sound  that  was  half  prayer,  half 
groan.  "  Father  in  Heaven,  —  can  You  let  that 
happen? "  Confusion  came  like  a  darkness  over 
him  again.  His  thoughts  could  not  go  by  that  path. 
He  felt  that  he  must  go  to  Maris,  lifting  bloodshot  eyes 
to  see  if  the  house  where  she  lived  still  crowned 
the  hill.  Perhaps  this  was  all  a  hideous  vision.  Per- 
haps he  was  still  in  Orbuiy,  dreaming  under  the  pear- 
tree. 

From  the  side  driveway  of  the  Brattle  house  a 
great  red  motor-car  swept  out.  In  it,  besides  the 
Aldens'  French  chauffeur,  were  Ruth  Alden,  the 
doctor,  and  the  woman  who  said  her  name  was 
"  Winch."  The  old  man  strained  his  eyes  for  Maris, 
but  she  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

Now  his  methodical,  bachelor  training  stood  him 
in  good  stead.  He  went  into  the  house,  and,  still 
in  his  nightmare  dream,  took  down  his  hat,  brushed 
it,  brushed  off  the  knees  of  his  trousers,  straightened 
his  clerical  collar,  and  went  out,  walking  as  a  sane 
man  walks,  in  the  direction  which  instinct  told  him  he 
must  take.  As  he  achieved,  mechanically,  step  after 
step,  the  familiarity  of  the  motion  began  to  soothe 
and  reassure  him.  His  knees  no  longer  trembled; 
his  feet  took  their  hold  on  earth  with  sureness.  He 
threw  back  his  head  for  a  long  breath,  then  led  his 
consciousness,  as  one  leads  a  frightened  horse,  back 
to  the  burning  issue.  Now  he  had  reached  the  slope  of 
the  Alden  hill,  and  yet  no  sign  of  Maris.  Looking 
around  over  his  right  shoulder,  he  saw  the  crimson 
motor-car  climbing  the  crimson  slope  of  Red  Horse 
Hill,  a  huge  beetle,  just  entering  the  strip  of  brown- 
green  woods.  Whose  child  was  that  "  crushed  to 
jelly  "  ?  Again  the  old  man  caught  at  the  bit  of 
his  stampeding  fancy.  Hurriedly  he  whispered  the 


AN  APPARITION  FROM  THE  PAST  101 

words  of  the  prayer  for  those  "  afflicted  in  mind, 
body  or  estate." 

His  hand  had  scarcely  lifted  the  new  patent  latch 
to  the  iron  gate,  when  Maris  was  on  the  walk,  running 
toward  him.  The  wide-eyed  terror  of  a  lost  child 
was  on  her  face.  In  that  first  moment  he  believed 
that  she  had  recognized  Jane  Rumbough,  and  knew. 
Together  with  the  stab  of  pity  came  a  less  worthy 
emotion  of  relief  that  he  would  not  need  to  speak. 
Her  first  words  swept  away  this  hope. 

"  Oh,  have  you  heard?  A  child,  —  a  little  girl,  — 
crushed  in  the  looms?  " 

He  nodded  without  speaking. 

"  No  wonder  they  call  it  the  Red  Village  over 
there,"  she  went  on,  with  a  swift  look  and  shudder 
in  the  direction  of  the  hill.  "  The  woman  said  —  its 
arm  —  was,  almost  torn  away."  Now  she  bent  over, 
hiding  her  face  in  her  hands,  while  the  horror  took 
her  like  an  ague. 

"  Let  us  —  proceed  —  indoors,"  said  Dr.  Single- 
terry.  To  himself  his  words  sounded  stiff  —  dis- 
jointed. In  speaking  them  his  jaw  had  a  curious 
sense  of  growing  rigid.  He  saw  that  Maris'  suffering, 
genuine  though  it  might  be,  was,  as  yet,  impersonal, 
and,  walking  beside  her  on  the  cemented  path,  he 
wished  that  the  hardened  surface  would  split  and 
swallow  him. 

"Did  you  see  —  the  woman  —  who  came?"  he 
managed  to  ask,  as  they  entered  the  hallway. 

"  The  little  girl's  mother,  do  you  mean?  No,  I 
was  up-stairs.  Ruth  and  Doctor  Page  fortunately 
were  down  here  in  the  study,  and  the  motor-car 
had  already  been  ordered  to  take  them  to  a  more 
distant  mill.  Wasn't  that  good  luck?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  in  the  same  stiffening  way, 
"  it  might  be  called  so.  Shall  we  go  into  the  study?  " 


102  RED  HORSE  HILL 

Now,  for  the  first  time,  she  glanced  up  at  him,  as 
if  a  little  perplexed.  She  noted  the  unusual  pallor  of 
a  face  always  silver-pale,  and  the  compressed,  straight 
line  of  the  lips.  Silently  she  put  a  hand  on  his,  as  if 
claiming  a  closer  bond  in  this  new  sympathy.  The 
old  man  could  have  groaned  aloud. 

"  Maris,"  he  asked  again,  almost  desperately, 
"  did  you  not  see  that  woman  or  hear  her  speak?  " 

"  I  told  you  I  did  not  see  her.    Why  do  you  ask 

again  with  that  strange  voice?    I  heard  her  speaking, 

-but  not  clearly.    Ruth  ran  up-stairs  to  get  some 

bandage-stuff,  —  and    other    things.    She   told    me 

what  I  know." 

Dr.  Singleterry  sat  down  heavily  beside  the  library 
table,  and  leaned  one  arm  upon  it.  Maris  stood  close 
beside  him.  "  Are  you  thinking,"  she  asked,  in  a 
low  voice,  "  that  it  was  very  wrong  of  me  not  to 
come  down-stairs?  " 

She  waited  for  a  reply,  but  he  only  shook  his  head. 

"  I  wanted  to  go  down,"  she  went  on,  as  if  pleading. 
"  I  even  started,  —  twice,  —  but  that  queer  feeling 
I  sometimes  have  held  me  back.  You  know  better 
than  any  one  else  what  has  made  me  such  a  coward." 

The  minister  moved  restlessly.  "  My  poor  girl," 
he  cried  to  this,  "  for  once  you  must  forget  your 
cowardice.  I  have  a  strange  thing  to  tell  you." 

Instinctively  she  drew  back.  A  new  apprehension 
tinged  her  words  as  she  said,  quickly:  "  To  tell  me? 
Something  that  concerns  me,  personally? "  He 
could  see  that  she  had  begun  to  tremble. 

"  Yes,  you;  and  very  closely.  Try  to  be  brave. 
That  woman  —  " 

"  Yes,  —  I  am  listening.    I  am  brave." 

"  Was,  —  Jane  Rumbough!  " 

"No!"  she  almost  screamed,  and  covered  her 
face. 


AN  APPARITION  FROM  THE  PAST  103 

It  was  out.  The  minister  let  his  eyes  fall  from 
Maris,  and  sank  back  in  the  wide  chair  as  if  glad  of 
its  support.  A  strange  bluish  pallor  crept  over  him, 
and  if  Maris  had  noted,  she  would  have  seen  him  bite 
and  twist  his  lips  as  if  to  keep  back  a  cry  of  physical 
pain.  He  pressed  one  hand  tightly  against  his  left 
side. 

But  Maris  did  not  see.  When  her  hands  fell,  she 
was  staring  out  into  a  black  whirl  of  nothingness. 
Her  lips  moved,  and,  after  an  instant,  came  the 
disjointed  sounds:  "That  woman!  At  last!  Here 
hi  my  own  home! "  Suddenly  she  bent  far  down  to 
him.  "  Does  she  know  who  7  am?  " 

"  I  think  not.  She  was  in  haste,  and  I  could  not 
ask.  She  seemed  greatly  frightened  at  seeing  me." 

Maris  could  not  hold  herself  together  for  courteous 
listening.  One  eager  question  pushed  another  from 
her  lips.  "  You  are  sure  it  was  my  servant?  You 
spoke  her  name?  " 

"  Yes,  and  after  her  first  cry  of  fear,  she  pretended 
to  laugh  at  my  mistake." 

"  She  denied  it?  " 

"  Yes,  —  but  that  makes  no  difference.  It  was 
Jane." 

Again  Maris  fixed  wide  eyes  upon  darkness.  "  Jane, 
—  still  a  fugitive,  —  still  fearing  to  be  recognized. 
Yes,  it  was  Jane."  Now  she  came  back  to  the 
moment's  stress.  "  How  could  you  fail  to  question 
her?  You  should  have  forced  some  answer  from 
her.  Perhaps  the  chance  is  gone  forever  — 

It  was  now  the  old  man's  turn  to  interrupt.  This 
sluggish,  saturnine  advance  toward  its  victim  of  an 
inevitable  agony  was  becoming  unendurable.  Some- 
thing must  be  done  to  hasten  it. 

"  Don't  you  understand,"  he  cried  almost  quer- 
ulously, "  that  she  was  on  an  errand,  —  an  urgent 


104  RED  HORSE  HILL 

errand,  seeking  for  a  doctor?  Before  I  had  seen  her 
face,  I  told  her  to  come  here  for  Dr.  Page." 

Surely,  from  this,  the  unhappy  woman  before  him 
must  begin  to  realize  the  horror.  Still  she  asked 
questions. 

"  Yes,  I  recall  that  now.  And  she  was  a  mill 
woman,  she  said,  —  working  in  my  husband's  mill? 
Ah!  "  The  last  exclamation  had  the  effect  of  a  check- 
rein.  In  the  new  silence  Dr.  Singleterry  repeated, 
clearly:  "  Yes,  she  is  a  mill  woman  at  the  Regina." 

Maris  grew  very  quiet  all  at  once.  The  old  man 
held  his  breath.  Maris'  next  words  were  whispered 
from  very  far  away.  "  She  said  a  child  was  hurt." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  minister.  It  was  all  that  he  could 
utter.  The  flesh  crawled  on  his  bones.  He  cowered, 
waiting. 

"  She  said  it  was  her  child,  —  crushed  in  the  mill. 
Why!  She  had  no  child!" 

"  No,"  answered  the  old  man  as  well  as  he  could 
for  the  chattering  of  his  teeth.  "  She  had  no  child." 

"  Then  whose,  —  whose  child  is  that,  —  torn  into 
pieces  in  my  husband's  mill?  "  Her  full  voice  was  now 
upon  him,  and  its  edge  was  keen.  He  felt  it  draw 
across  his  heart.  "  Why  don't  you  answer?  Why 
do  you  blink  like  that?  Whose  child,  I  say?  "  Her 
fierce  grasp  was  on  his  shoulder.  She  pulled  him  this 
way  and  that  in  the  first  frenzy  of  her  grief.  "  Look 
at  me;  tell  me  whether  it  is  Maris  that  is  speaking. 
Do  you  know  what  I  am  saying?  Is  this  stake  and 
the  flames  about  it,  —  real?  " 

"  God  help  us  all! "  cried  out  the  minister  with  a 
sob,  and  let  his  head  fall  over  to  the  table. 

Again  Maris  was  quite  still;  then  a  strange  sound 
slid  into  the  silence.  It  was  the  low  laughter  of  a 
woman.  "  How  greatly  pleased  the  Devil  must 
be,"  she  said.  Next  came  a  rush  of  silken  skirts. 


AN  APPARITION  FROM  THE  PAST  105 

He  sprang  up  and  caught  her  at  the  door,  his  hand 
closing  over  the  icy  fingers  that  clutched  the  knob. 

"  Keep  your  head,  Maris.  Do  nothing  reckless 
now.  You  will  be  sorry." 

"  Take  your  hand  off,"  she  cried;    "  I'm  going!  " 

For  answer  his  long,  white  fingers  turned  to  steel. 
"  I  am  not  thinking  only  of  you,  Maris,"  he  went  on, 
a  little  sternly.  "  There  are  others,  less  culpable,  to 
whom  a  false  move  on  your  part,  just  now,  may  bring 
unnecessary  tragedy.  What  of  your  husband?  Ah, 
—  here's  the  first  thought  for  him !  Well,  is  it  not 
best  to  make  your  agony  reflect  as  little  as  possible 
on  him?  Such  a  man  cares  for  his  dignity,  —  for 
appearances,  —  it  is  right  that  he  should.  A  prema- 
ture disclosure  may  do  irrevocable  harm  there,  as 
well  as  to  the  child." 

"  The  child,  —  too?  "  breathed  Maris.  "  How  can 
that  be?  " 

"  Why,  in  more  ways  than  one,"  he  went  on, 
gently;  and  all  the  time  that  he  was  speaking,  he 
led  her  back  from  the  door.  Now  that  a  suffering 
fellow-creature  depended  upon  him  for  guidance, 
his  thought  worked  swift  and  sure.  "  For  one  thing, 
we  cannot  be  certain  until  we  see  her  that  it  is  your 
Felicia.  Jane  is  now  living  as  the  wife  of  another 
man,  —  called,  —  dear  me,  —  she  spoke  the  name 
quite  clearly,  but  my  memory  for  names  is  as  bad 
as  my  memory  for  faces  is  good  — 

"  Was  it  —  Winch?  "  asked  Maris,  unexpectedly. 

"  Precisely.    How  could  you  know?  " 

"  I  had  a  bloated  thing  called  '  Winch  '  once  pointed 
out  to  me.  But  he  is  of  no  importance.  You  were 
saying  that  we  could  not  be  sure,  —  because  —  ?  " 

"  Because  this  man  Winch,  when  Jane  joined  her 
sinful  life  to  his,  might  already  have  been  the  father 
of  a  child  about  Felicia's  age.  Don't  you  see  that? 


106  RED  HORSE  HILL 

Or  they  may  have  adopted  a  child,  —  such  things 
are  done,  —  just  to  work  in  the  mill  and  help  support 
them.  For  either  of  these  two  reasons  the  child 
may  not  be  yours." 

Maris  was  listening  closely.  She  shivered  now, 
and  put  her  hand  up  to  her  throat.  "  Oh,"  she 
moaned,  "  I  don't  know  which  would  be  more  ter- 
rible, —  to  find  it  to  be  Felicia,  —  or  not!  " 

"  Whichever  way  God  will,  our  present  policy  is 
caution." 

"  I  can't  endure  it !  I  won't  stay  here  like  a  chained 
thing  and  let  the  minutes  flay  me  inch  by  inch,"  she 
cried  out  suddenly,  trying  to  tear  her  hand  from  his. 

"  You  must  stay.  You  must  endure,"  he  said,  de- 
taining her  with  a  force  that  hurt.  "  You  have 
brought  about  this  state  of  things  by  your  own  deeds. 
Don't  be  a  poltroon,  now  that  the  first  reckoning 
has  come.  Your  father  was  as  brave  a  man  as  ever 
fought  in  a  brave  cause.  He  used  to  speak  of  you 
to  me  as  his  little  thoroughbred.  Don't  further 
disgrace  his  memory  now!  " 

She  trembled  and  cringed  at  his  words,  as  if  they 
had  been  lashes,  but  the  pain  helped  to  steady  her. 
"  What  is  there  for  me  to  do,  then?  "  she  cried. 

"  That  hardest  of  all  things,  —  nothing,"  said  the 
other.  "  You  must  wait  here  until  the  doctor  returns 
with  his  report  of  the  case.  If  you  should  try  to 
follow  him  to  the  house,  you  might  be  the  ruin  of 
everything,  including  the  child's  hope  of  recovery. 
You  must  try  to  be  a  brave  woman;  you  must  face 
the  inevitable,  and  force  yourself  to  hide,  for  a  few 
more  hours,  —  or  days,  —  your  miserable  secret. 
This  is  only  a  beginning.  The  whole  crisis  must 
come  now.  Poor  soul,  —  poor,  weak,  self  deluded 
soul!" 

"  To  sit  here!    To  do  nothing,  —  nothing,  —  noth- 


AN  APPARITION  FROM  THE  PAST  107 

ing  —  "  she  repeated,  and  her  words  pronounced  it 
would  seem,  her  own  death-sentence. 

"  There  is  no  move  for  you,  —  or  for  me,  —  until 
we  find  out,  beyond  a  doubt,  whether  that  child  is 
yours." 

"  But  how  is  that  to  be  done?  Neither  Dr.  Page 
nor  Ruth  could  tell  me,  even  if  they  knew  what  we 
suspect.  They  have  not  seen  her." 

"  And  I  fear,  too,  I  should  not  know  the  little  one. 
Perhaps,  if  the  family  resemblance  were  quite  un- 
mistakable — 

She  broke  in  with  the  bitter  laugh  he  dreaded. 
"  And  there  is  not  much  left  of  family  resemblance 
in  mill  children,"  she  said.  "  They  all  look  alike,  as 
starved  cats  look  alike,  —  wan  bloodless  images 
of  children  grown  old  before  youth  really  comes  to 
them.  Will  I  ever  —  ever  forget  that  hideous  death- 
dance  before  my  gate?  " 

"  Try  not  to  think  of  that,  or  of  any  such  torturing 
phantasmagoria,"  he  pleaded  tenderly.  "  Can  you 
not,  at  a  time  like  this,  unburden  your  heart  to  the 
Man  of  Sorrows?  " 

She  sank  down  in  a  chair  just  behind  her,  and  gave 
a  sort  of  moaning  cry,  but,  when  she  was  seated, 
began  to  shake  her  head  from  side  to  side.  "  Even 
though  you  have  forgotten  and  discarded  Him,"  the 
minister  went  on  in  his  beautiful  caressing  voice, 
"  He  waits  to  strengthen  and  to  comfort  you." 

Maris  leaned  far  over,  and  put  a  hand  up  to  her 
face.  To  his  infinite  relief,  he  saw  that  she  was  cry- 
ing. "  My  poor,  poor  girl.  My  little  Maris,"  he 
whispered,  and  laid  a  hand  light  as  a  moonbeam  for 
an  instant  on  her  dark  hair.  "  I  go  now,  thankfully, 
leaving  you  in  the  hands  of  God." 

But  Maris  startled  him  anew.  Flinging  her  head  up- 
right so  that  the  healing  drops  were  scattered,  she 


108  RED  HORSE  HILL 

cried  out:  "  I  think  not.  You  are  leaving  me  prey 
to  the  devil,  and  all  his  angels." 

"  Then  I  shall  not  leave,"  he  said  instantly.  "  Such 
wild  blasphemy  must  come  from  a  disordered  mind." 

"  As  you  please,"  she  said,  shrugging.  She  leaned 
back,  drumming  on  the  arm  of  a  chair  with  nervous 
fingers.  The  old  man  did  not  sit  down,  he  stood  near, 
watching  her  with  much  the  same  look  that  he  had 
turned  on  the  mill  children  in  their  unspeakable 
dance. 

Maris  kept  up  her  defiant  attitude  as  best  she  could. 
She  did  not  look  upward,  and  made  an  elaborate 
pretence  of  ignorance  that  he  was  near.  The  day 
seemed  to  be  standing  still  in  the  pleasant,  shadowed 
library.  Outside  the  sun  scraped  softly  on  the  closed 
eastern  blind.  It  was  not  yet  eleven  o'clock,  and 
already  a  year  had  been  lived  in  this  one  day. 

Now  Maris  changed  the  rhythm  she  was  strumming 
on  the  chair-arm.  Slower  and  slower  it  grew,  until 
it  ceased  altogether,  and  the  hand  fell  heavily  down- 
ward. She  glanced  up  furtively,  and  saw  the  old 
man's  eyes  set  on  her.  For  a  long  moment  they  stared 
thus  each  at  the  other,  and  Maris  saw  his  lips  tremble 
into  the  motions  of  a  prayer.  All  at  once  her  piteous 
defence  went  down.  The  straining  sobs  rose,  choking 
into  her  throat,  her  eyes  filled  and  overflowed  with 
tears. 

"  Now  go,  —  go  at  once,"  she  whispered.  "  After 
all,  there  are  a  few  things  I  can  say  to  God." 


CHAPTER   EIGHT 

MARIS   UNDERSTANDS 

ELEVEN  o'clock  came;  half  after  eleven,  —  twelve, 
—  one,  —  and  yet  no  sign  of  the  big  motor-car  crawl- 
ing down  Red  Horse  Hill. 

Dwight  Alden  drove  back  to  luncheon  in  the  buggy. 
Maris,  meeting  him  in  the  hallway,  asked  very  quietly : 
"  What  is  the  latest  news  from  the  child?  " 

As  quietly  he  answered:  "  Page  and  Ruth  are  still 
hard  at  work.  It  seems  that  the  regular  mill  doctor, 
for  whom  the  hands  are  taxed,  is  off  on  a  fishing  ex- 
cursion. A  piece  of  inconceivable  carelessness,  too. 
I  am  not  particularly  pleased  with  McGhee  hi  this 
matter,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  Just  how  did  the  accident  take  place?  " 

"  Don't  ask  me  questions,  dear,"  the  man  said 
wearily,  laying  his  arm  about  her  shoulders.  "  It  is 
a  wretched  business  and  has  quite  knocked  me  up. 
It  can  do  neither  of  us  good  to  repeat  harrowing  de- 
tails." 

"  You  do  look  pale  and  troubled,"  said  Maris. 
"  Come  right  in  to  your  luncheon.  We  won't  wait 
for  the  others." 

"  No;  Ruth  sent  word  not  to  wait,"  said  Alden, 
following  her  into  the  dining-room. 

"  Is  Ruth  gentle  and  sympathetic,  as  well  as  very, 
very  clever  in  such  things?  "  Maris  ventured  to  ask, 
when  the  luncheon  was  in  progress. 


110  RED  HORSE  HILL 

"  What  things?  "  inquired  her  husband,  frowning 
above  the  intricacies  of  a  broiled  squab. 

"  The  sort  of  things  you  do  for  a  child  who  has  been 
badly  hurt." 

"  I  don't  know  about  the  sympathy.  Probably 
from  your  standpoint  she  would  be  hard  as  nails. 
But  she  knows  her  business  all  right,  you  may  be 
sure.  She  took  a  summer  course  somewhere  in  just 
the  sort  of  case,  —  emergency,  bones  smashed  and 
all  that." 

"  Oh,  I  wish  I  were  smart,  and  self-controlled,  and 
good,  like  your  sister  Ruth!  "  Maris  said  passionately. 

"  And  I  don't  want  you  changed  a  hair's  breadth 
from  what  you  are,"  declared  D wight.  "  Doesn't 
that  mean  something?  Now  eat  your  lunch,  —  there 
isn't  a  morsel  on  your  plate  yet,  —  and  we'll  try  to 
talk  of  pleasanter  things." 

Obediently  Maris  placed  some  food  on  her  plate, 
and  tried  to  eat. 

"  There  was  great  news  in  the  morning's  paper," 
said  Dwight,  who  was  already  beginning  to  feel  the 
effects  of  the  good  food.  "  The  Knickerbocker  Trust 
Company  is  to  resume  business  on  the  twenty-sixth." 

"  Really?  How  nice!  "  said  Maris,  smiling  toward 
him. 

"What  could  Ruth  and  the  doctor  be  doing  through 
all  these  hours?  Surely  even  a  bad  fracture  and  many 
wounds  would  not  need  so  long  a  time  for  the  pre- 
liminary dressing.  There  must  be  something  else, 
some  more  horrible  thing  to  detain  them. 

"  No  other  thing  could  do  quite  so  much  toward 
reviving  national  confidence  and  credit,"  Dwight 
went  on.  "  It  is  a  big  thing  for  all  of  us,  my  dear, 
that  the  Knickerbocker  has  weathered  her  financial 
storm  so  bravely." 

"  I  certainly  am  glad,"  answered  Maris.     "  That 


MARIS  UNDERSTANDS  111 

ladies'  room  of  theirs  was  so  pretty  and  so  comfort- 
able. I  never  saw  such  cunning  goldfish." 

It  was  a  child  called  "  Winch,"  and  if  the  very  one 
Maris  had  seen  driven  down  the  hill,  what  a  misfor- 
tune that  the  dust  and  glare  of  the  road  had  so  ob- 
scured clear  vision.  It  was  crying,  too,  crying  aloud 
in  terror,  its  poor  face  all  distorted.  She  had  not  even 
seen  the  color  of  the  eyes.  As  to  the  height  and  prob- 
able age,  they  were  very  near  what  Felicia's  would 
have  been. 

"  On  reading  the  big  head-lines,  I  sent  off  some 
telegrams  of  congratulation  at  once,  —  one,  collect- 
ively to  the  Board  of  Directors,  and  a  few  more  per- 
sonal ones  to  the  fellows  I  happen  to  know.  There 
will  be  a  great  old  jubilee  in  the  village  of  Manhattan 
this  night! "  He  sighed,  wishing  that  he  were  to  be 
there. 

"  It  was  thoughtful  of  you,  dearest,"  smiled  his 
wife.  "  But  then  you  always  do  just  the  right  thing." 

Yes,  in  height  the  child  might  well  be  Felicia.  The 
hair  had  a  darkish  look,  under  its  powdering  of  dust 
and  lint.  There  was  a  hint  of  grace  in  the  swift, 
scrawny  figure.  All  the  women  of  Maris'  family  had 
been  graceful.  If  only  she  had  seen  the  eyes! 

"  Guess  there  have  been  a  jolly  lot  of  motor-cars 
laid  up  for  the  winter  in  Knickerbocker  garages," 
laughed  Dwight,  with  a  hint  of  malice.  "  Well,  it 
won't  hurt  the  old  boys  to  economize  a  little.  By 
George,  what  coffee  this  is!  I  never  knew  coffee, 
until  I  numbered  Aunt  Mandy  among  my  friends." 

"  It  is  delicious,"  assented  Maris,  sipping  hers.  "  She 
uses  some  old-fashioned  kind  of  a  garage  to  boil  it 
in." 

After  all,  there  was  no  one  but  herself  who  could 
be  sure.  She  must  find  out.  Anything  was  better 
than  this  torturing  uncertainty.  If  she  went,  by 


112  RED  HORSE  HILL 

night,  wearing  a  veil,  Jane  Rumbough  might  not 
recognize  her.  Her  manner  of  speaking  was  un- 
doubtedly changed.  She  used  more  of  the  crisp 
pronunciation  of  the  North.  By  exaggerating  this 
accent  and  pitching  her  voice  in  a  higher  key,  Jane 
would  be  deceived.  Only  to  get  there.  Only  to  put 
her  hand  out,  —  in  the  dark,  if  needs  be,  and  touch 
the  little  body.  Then  she  would  know! 

Dwight  glanced  at  her  searchingly,  then  rose  from 
the  table.  "  Well,  I  must  get  back.  Things  are 
pretty  well  disorganized  at  the  mill,  but  I  can  face 
it  now,  after  this  bit  of  rest,  and  a  good  lunch." 

Maris  was  following  him  to  the  door  for  her  usual 
good-by  embrace.  Just  at  the  parting  he  turned  to 
her.  His  face  was  very  sweet,  with  a  queer  look  of 
shyness.  "  I  am  going  to  send  over  fifty  dollars  to 
the  cottage  where  the  poor  little  kid  lives.  Wouldn't 
you  like  it  to  go  in  your  name?  " 

Maris'  upturned  face  flashed  into  beauty,  and  then, 
as  quickly,  clouded.  She  hung  her  head  under  the 
weight  of  her  shame.  "  No,"  came  the  low  answer. 
"  Don't  send  it  at  all."  Before  he  could  voice  his 
astonishment,  she  had  run  back  into  the  house. 

From  a  library  window  Maris  watched  her  husband 
drive  down  the  hill,  and  turn  into  the  curving  of  the 
valley.  A  red  motor-car,  coming  the  other  way,  now 
passed  him,  the  two  vehicles  slackening  speed  for  a 
rapid  exchange  of  words. 

In  the  motor-car  sat  Ruth  alone.  Maris  was  not 
sure,  for  the  moment,  whether  it  was  relief  or  disap- 
pointment that  she  felt.  Then  came  the  thought  that 
Ruth  was  as  clear-headed  and  scientific  as  any  doctor, 
and  in  this  particular  crisis  a  much  less  dangerous  per- 
son to  question. 

Maris  went  out  to  meet  her  as  she  had  met  Dwight, 
and  led  her  into  the  dining-room,  restraining  her 


MARIS  UNDERSTANDS  113 

corroding  impatience  until  the  favorable  opportunity 
came.  Her  first  words  concerned  Dr.  Page. 

"  Simply  worn  out,"  said  Ruth.  "  And  rather 
messy,  you  know,  after  three  hours  of  it." 

"  Of  course,  I  should  have  thought  of  that,"  cried 
Maris,  controlling  her  desire  to  shudder.  "  He  would 
want  to  go  to  the  hotel.  And  I  won't  question  you 
about  the  accident,  Ruth,  until  you  have  finished 
lunch.  I've  told  Aunt  Mandy  to  make  you  a  fresh, 
new  pot  of  coffee." 

"  Oh,  I  have  no  feminine  qualms  on  such  subjects," 
said  Ruth.  "  I  had  to  get  over  those  long  ago." 
But  in  spite  of  these  careless  words,  it  was  noticeable 
that  she  did  not  pursue  the  topic. 

"  You  look  so  tired  and  pale,  Ruth.  Let  me  take  off 
your  hat  for  you.  Please  —  "  as  Ruth  looked  amused. 
"  I  want  to  do  something  for  somebody,  —  so  very 
much." 

"  If  it  will  relieve  your  feelings,  do  it  by  all  means," 
said  Ruth. 

As  though  the  greatest  of  privileges  had  been  con- 
ferred, Maris  went  around  to  the  other  side  of  the 
table,  removed  the  long  pins,  lifted  the  sailor  hat  as 
if  it  had  been  a  sacred  vessel,  and  then,  more  timidly, 
smoothed  the  pretty,  soft  hair  that  showed  a  thread 
of  dampness  where  the  crown  had  pressed. 

"  You  must  have  kept  this  on  the  whole  time," 
said  Maris.  "  Your  hair  has  a  shining  ring,  as  if  a 
little  gold  wire  were  on  it." 

"  You  may  be  sure  I  had  no  time  to  think  of  hats," 
said  Ruth.  It  was  queer  how  this  absurd  sister-in- 
law  crept  close  to  one's  weak  places!  "  Besides,  there 
would  have  been  no  clean  spot  where  I  could  put  it 
down.  Such  a  kennel  of  a  house.  It  was  all  I  could 
do  to  drum  up  a  tin  wash-basin  and  some  water, 
before  I  left," 


114  RED  HORSE  HILL 

Maris  had  reseated  herself  across  from  Ruth.  In 
a  sort  of  fascination  she  watched  each  motion  and 
expression  of  her  companion.  Now  it  was  Ruth's 
calm  face  on  which  she  gazed,  but  more  often  the 
hands.  What  fine,  strong,  unringed  hands  they  were, 
—  so  full  of  character  and  power.  And  all  these  hours 
they  had  been  busied  with  a  suffering  child,  —  with 
Winch's  and  Jane  Rumbough's  child. 

Ruth  looked  up.  "  An  odd  thing  happened  just  as 
I  was  about  to  leave."  Maris  gave  a  little  restless 
move,  eloquent  of  interest.  "  The  anaemic  old 
Episcopal  clergyman,  Dr.  Singleterry  —  " 

"  Oh,"  breathed  Maris,  interrupting,  "  So  he 
went- 

"  Rather  he  tried  to,"  corrected  Ruth,  "  for  he 
had  hardly  reached  the  top  step  when  that  frightful 
woman,  Mrs.  Winch,  caught  sight  of  him  and  flew 
out  like  a  hyena,  literally  driving  him  away  with 
blows  and  curses.  I  could  not  help  wondering  whether 
her  attitude  was  indicative  of  the  average  position 
of  the  mill  people  toward  religion,  or  whether  she  has 
some  personal  hatred.  From  her  intense  violence, 
one  would  have  surmised  the  latter." 

"  O,  she  must  have  grown  into  a  terrible  woman," 
said  Maris. 

"  Why,  you  silly  thing!  You  are  shivering 
at  the  very  thought  of  her,"  cried  Ruth.  "  I 
fancy  she's  no  worse  than  the  majority.  What  can 
we  expect,  while  such  conditions  are  allowed  to 
exist?  " 

Ruth  was  rising.  She  glanced  out  toward  the  hall- 
way and  the  marble  steps.  "  Don't  go  up  just  this 
minute,"  pleaded  Maris.  "  You  haven't  told  me  a 
word  yet  about  the  little  girl." 

"  Are  you  really  so  much  interested?  "  asked  Ruth 
a  little  curiously.  "  I  have  heard  you  counsel  a  policy 


MARIS  UNDERSTANDS  115 

of  non-interference  between  laboring  children  and 
their  parents." 

"A  case  like  this  is  different!"  cried  the  other. 
"  It  is  an  awful,  a  hideous  accident,  that  happened 
in  Dwight's  mill.  I  can  think  of  nothing  but  that 
little  child.  I  want  to  hear  everything  that  you  will 
tell  me."  The  interest,  also  the  suffering,  in  the 
speaker's  eyes  were  unmistakable. 

Ruth  gazed  upon  her  thoughtfully.  It  was  one 
of  the  disconcerting  things  about  Ruth,  this  way  of 
hers  to  pause,  at  the  height  of  an  emotional  crisis, 
and  begin  a  deliberate  study  of  her  companion.  With 
little  thought  for  the  nervous  tension  of  the  other 
woman,  she  was  now  wondering  whether,  after  all, 
Maris  was  as  superficial  as  she  had  always  seemed. 
This  was  no  mere  surface  compassion  that  had 
changed  a  face  from  its  usual  piquant  brightness,  into 
a  set  white  mask  of  pity.  Perhaps  Maris  was  one  of 
those  beings  who  shrink  from  giving  sympathy  be- 
cause they  must  always  give  too  much.  Ruth  had 
heard  of  such  cases,  and,  if  the  truth  must  be  told, 
had  despised  a  little  the  weaklings  who  were  lacking 
a  proper  self-control.  Maris  had  been,  apparently, 
more  than  indifferent  in  the  past  to  the  questions  of 
betterment  of  conditions  among  the  mill-people. 
It  would  seem  now  as  if  this  accident  had  aroused  in 
her,  all  at  once,  a  passionate  sense  of  human  re- 
sponsibility. Ruth  hoped  that  this  was  true.  In  any 
event,  it  was  far  from  her  intention  or  desire  to  check 
the  growth  of  so  admirable  a  sentiment  in  her  broth- 
er's wife. 

Suddenly  she  spoke,  throwing  her  head  back  with 
a  bright,  decided  gesture.  "  Then  come  up  to  my 
room  with  me,  will  you?  Though  I  must  warn  you 
beforehand,  it  is  a  distressing  affair." 

Maris  went  up  the  stairway  just  after  Ruth.    Step 


116  RED  HORSE  HILL 

after  step  she  followed,  in  unconscious  imitation  of 
the  stronger  woman.  Had  there  been  time  to  analyze 
her  emotions,  she  would  have  wondered  at  her  feeling 
of  dependence.  She  could  have  reached  out,  now, 
and  caught  at  the  smooth  gray  skirt,  as  a  child  clings 
to  the  nearest  person  in  a  dark  room.  Ruth  seemed, 
in  these  hours,  the  one  thing  in  the  world  she  need 
not  fear. 

"  Here  we  are!  "  said  Ruth  brightly,  flinging  open 
the  door,  and  waiting  for  Maris  to  pass  in.  "  You 
tuck  yourself  away  in  that  com'fy  chair  by  the  win- 
dow, while  I  get  this  stiff  collar  off.  You  will 
wish  to  hear  first,  of  course,  how  the  accident  oc- 
curred." 

"  Yes,"  said  Maris  meekly,  though  in  reality  it 
had  not  been  hi  her  thought. 

"  It  was  unnecessary,  as  most  accidents  are,"  began 
Ruth  severely.  "  The  result  of  a  double  negligence. 
In  the  first  place,  it  seems,  the  poor  child  has  been 
whipped  back  to  the  mill,  day  after  day,  when  in 
reality  she  was  too  sick  to  stand.  There  isn't 
enough  red  blood  left  in  its  poor  wasted  body,  to 
supply  a  healthy  sparrow." 

"  Yes,  —  and  the  second  negligence  — 

"  The  second  is  what  more  nearly  affects  my 
brother.  A  piece  of  machinery,  —  one  of  the  lesser 
bands  that  come  up  through  the  flooring  of  all  the 
stories  in  order  to  turn  individual  machines,  —  had 
been  left  uncovered.  The  law,  even  in  this  com- 
munity —  "  here  Ruth  cast  down  her  collar  on  the 
dresser,  and  sniffed  aloud,  to  show  her  small  opinion 
of  the  community,  "  requires  that  such  swift-moving 
bands  should  be  always  kept  protected  by  wooden 
casings." 

"  Why,  of  course.  Even  I  can  see  how  necessary 
that  would  be,"  returned  Maris.  She  was  beginning 


MARIS  UNDERSTANDS  117 

to  feel  quite  proud  of  her  own  reserve.    Here  she  was 
questioning  Ruth  as  about  any  stranger  child. 

"  So  does  McGhee,"  said  Ruth,  indignantly,  and 
began  loosening  her  hair.  "  And  there  is  a  tradition 
that  once  this  spool-room  band,  like  the  others,  had 
a  surrounding  box,  but  it  became  injured,  in  some 
way,  was  taken  down,  and  has  never  been  re- 
placed. I  presume  that  Mr.  McGhee  kept  putting  it 
off." 

"  Then  it  was  on  that  band  the  little  girl  was  hurt?  " 

"  Yes.  Being  already  too  ill,  as  I  have  said,  to 
keep  steadily  on  her  feet,  she  stumbled  against  it, 
fell,  and  in  an  instant  was  dragged  down  to  the  floor, 
her  left  arm  between  the  band  and  the  jagged  board 
edges  of  the  flooring." 

"  Oh,  —  it  must  have  been  terrible  pain.  I  can  feel 
it  —  here,  —  in  my  arm."  Maris'  head  went  back 
to  the  chair,  her  voice  faded  as  light  fades.  "  Cam- 
phor, —  Ruth,  —  have  you  any  camphor  — 

Ruth  turned,  caught  sight  of  her  face,  and  rushed 
to  the  chair.  "  Here,  Maris,  Maris!  Don't  give  way 
to  the  faintness.  Fight  it.  I'll  get  the  camphor.  Sit 
up  straight  until  I  bring  it!  "  In  a  moment  more,  the 
threat  had  passed.  Ruth  shook  her  a  little  angrily. 
"  How  is  one  to  treat  you  like  a  rational  being,  if  you 
go  off  like  that,  at  the  first  hint  of  suffering?  " 

"  It  was  only  for  the  instant.  You  saw  how  quickly 
I  overcame  it.  Don't  stop  telling  me  about  it.  I 
must  hear,  —  I  tell  you,  I  must  hear.  I  must."  She 
was  wringing  her  hands. 

Ruth  drew  back  in  some  astonishment.  "  Are  you 
specially  interested  in  the  child  or  her  people?  "  she 
asked. 

This  question  did  more  than  the  camphor  to  com- 
plete Maris'  restoration. 
.    "  No,  —  no,  it  isn't  that.     Only,  you  see,  dear 


118  RED  HORSE  HILL 

Ruth,  I'm  just  beginning  to  realize  the  truth  of 
things,  —  all  the  misery  that  other  people  endure,  — 
and  my  own  wretched  cowardice.  I  want  to  be  brave 
and  strong,  like  you.  I'm  going  to  try  hard,  if  you'll 
help  me.  Now,  go  on  —  tell  me  exactly,  everything. 
Don't  —  don't  move  the  camphor  bottle,  though." 

Ruth  cast  a  pitying  yet  almost  affectionate  glance 
at  her  sister-in-law.  She  really  did  not  approve  of 
Maris,  or  wish  to  become  fond  of  her,  but  her  clear 
judgment  had,  more  than  once  of  late,  pointed  out 
the  possibility. 

"  Well,  of  course,"  she  began,  "  the  arm  was 
mangled,  burned  by  the  friction,  and  literally  crushed 
to  a  pulp.  The  two  bones  of  the  forearm  are  shivered. 
The  arm  hung  like  a  fold  of  bleeding  cloth."  The 
speaker  was  watching,  keenly,  the  effect  of  these 
words. 

"  Keep  on,"  said  Maris.    "  I'm  not  faint  again." 

"  At  first  Dr.  Page  insisted  upon  amputation." 

"  Yes,  —  I  know  what  that  —  is." 

"  But  I  prevented  it." 

"You!  0,  Ruth,  Ruth!  Of  course  any  woman 
would  realize  more  than  a  man  the  horror  of  that. 
Don't  look  at  me  so  strangely.  I'm  strong,  I  tell 
you." 

"  We  had  quite  an  argument  over  the  poor  little 
soul,"  Ruth  went  on,  her  own  face  more  pitying  than 
she  knew.  "  The  mother  was  with  Dr.  Page.  She 
wished  the  amputation  because,  she  said  the  child 
would  get  well  sooner,  and  could  get  back  to  work 
in  the  mills.  Inhuman  fiends,  —  those  parents  are!  " 

"  But  he  didn't!  You  had  your  way?  "  Maris 
fought  to  keep  back  the  rising  excitement. 

"  Yes,  I  had  my  way.  It  is  a  greater  menace  to 
the  patient's  life;  but  as  I  looked  at  the  ill-fed  child, 
its  hag  of  a  mother,  and  the  bloated  wretch  who, 


MARIS  UNDERSTANDS  119 

presumably  is  its  father,  I  couldn't  help  thinking  that 
life  is  not  so  great  a  gift  to  it,  that  we  need  put  life 
first." 

"  So  I  should  have  thought,  —  so  I  think,  now," 
whispered  Maris. 

"  So  finally  Dr.  Page  attempted  a  somewhat  new 
and  very  difficult  operation." 

"  Tell  me  of  that,  —  too." 

A  little  hint  of  amusement  crept  into  Ruth's  eyes. 
"  You  wouldn't  know  when  I  had  told  you,"  she  said. 

"  Yet,  —  because  I  ask  it  —  " 

"  He  used  what  is  called  '  intra-canalicular  splints/ 
one  to  each  bone.  They  are  tubes  of  aluminum  in- 
serted through  the  centre  of  the  crushed  bone,  to  give 
them  shape  and  strength  while  they  are  knitting. 
Afterward  another  operation  is  necessary  to  extract 
the  splints,  —  but  that  has  no  special  danger." 

"  What  wonderful  —  wonderful  things  wise  people 
can  do  now!  "  said  Maris,  in  a  tone  of  awe.  "  It  is  al- 
most like  the  old  days  of  miracles." 

"  Even  with  this  skill,  the  child  has  no  more  than  a 
chance  of  life,"  said  Ruth  sadly.  "  Her  greatest 
menace  is  blood-poisoning.  We  do  not  see  how  it  can 
be  avoided  in  that  filthy  hovel  where  she  lies." 

Maris  could  sit  still  no  longer.  "  But  surely,  in  all 
this  town,  there  is  some  cleaner  place  where  she  can  go." 

"  We  have  inquired  and  can  find  none.  Besides, 
these  mill  people  are  resentful  of  every  effort  to  better 
them.  The  chances  are  they  would  not  let  her  leave. 
Recall  how  they  treated  the  minister." 

"  But  she  mustn't  be  allowed  to  lie  there  and  die 
from  neglect,"  cried  the  other,  beginning  to  walk 
up  and  down.  "  I'm  sure  that  Dwight  -  She 
paused,  bit  her  lips,  and  checked  the  words  she  wished 
to  speak.  "  At  least,  dear  Ruth,  you  and  the  doctor 
are  going  again." 


120  RED  HORSE  HILL 

"  Yes,  at  four  this  afternoon.  He  is  coming  by 
for  me,  —  and  as  often,  within  the  next  few  critical 
days,  as  those  dreadful  parents  of  hers  will  allow. 
The  man  is  a  vagrant,  I  understand.  He  lives,  — 
and  gets  drunk,  on  the  mill  wages  of  the  woman  and 
her  child." 

"  O,  something  must  be  done.  Something  must 
be  done,"  Maris  was  saying  over  and  over  to  herself. 
Then  she  walked  back  to  Ruth. 

"  While  you  were  there,  did  you  happen  to  hear 
them  call  the  little  girl  by  name?  " 

Ruth  was  brushing  her  hair.  She  held  the  brush 
suspended.  "  Yes,  several  times.  It  was  an  unusual 
sort  of  a  nickname.  '  Lisshy/  I  believe.  Yes,  I  am 
quite  sure  it  was  '  Lisshy.' ' 

Maris  stood  motionless.  The  other,  busied  with 
soft  brown  tresses,  noted  no  difference. 

"  Since  you  are  so  genuinely  interested,  suppose 
you  go  back  with  us  this  afternoon,"  the  girl  was 
saying.  She  threw  her  hair  back,  expecting  a  bright 
look  of  acceptance,  but  met  averted  eyes  and  a  down- 
cast face.  "  Ah,"  she  said  drily,  "  I  perceive  I  have 
jumped  too  quickly  at  conclusions." 

"  Yes,  that  is  true,  but  not  as  you  mean  it,"  said 
Maris.  "  Before  long  you  will  understand.  I'll  go 
now.  I  thank  you,  Ruth,  for  what  you  have  told  me. 
Very  soon,  now,  you'll  understand." 

She  went  from  the  room  swiftly,  with  no  swerve  or 
hesitation  to  her  step,  leaving  Ruth  both  puzzled  and 
annoyed.  "  What  is  it  about  her,"  murmured  the 
girl  to  her  own  reflected  image,  "that  so  eludes  a 
logical  mind?  It  is  like  trying  to  catch  a  moth." 

Ruth  made  her  second  visit  and  returned,  this  time 
accompanied  by  Dr.  Page.  Always  a  little  shy  of 
using  Maris'  name  to  him,  she  had  not  mentioned  the 


MARIS  UNDERSTANDS  121 

unexpected  interest  in  the  case  shown  by  her  brother's 
wife.  Maris,  when  they  now  entered,  asked  few 
more  questions,  but  listened,  silent  and  intent,  to  all 
their  words.  It  seemed  that  the  man  Winch  and  his 
wife  had  refused  to  let  Ruth  sit  up  with  the  child  that 
night,  or  supply  a  nurse  for  the  purpose.  The  reason 
given  was  that  they  "  didn't  keer  fer  strangers  roamin' 
over  their  house  at  night."  Ruth  had  pleaded  that, 
at  least,  the  child  should  sleep  alone,  and  the  window 
near  her  bed  be  kept  open.  They  had  agreed  to  the 
first  request,  but  demurred  at  the  second,  as  "  Mr. 
Winch  was  powerful  likely  to  get  '  riggers '  if  any 
night  air  was  let  into  the  house." 

"  I  can't  see  any  hope  for  the  little  creature  in 
that  foul  air,"  Ruth  had  stated. 

When  Dwight  came  in  they  saw,  by  his  still  clouded 
face,  that  he  didn't  wish  the  accident  discussed. 

Immediately  after  dinner,  Maris  excused  herself  and 
went  to  her  room.  In  a  very  few  moments  Poline 
was  rung  for  and  sent  down  with  a  request  to  Mr. 
Alden  to  "  step  up-stairs." 

Dwight  found  his  wife  already  in  her  dressing- 
gown.  She  had  sent  for  him  to  confess  that  one  of 
her  miserable  nervous  headaches  was  coming  on 
rapidly,  and  she  thought  it  better  to  sleep  on  the 
couch  in  her  little  dressing-room. 

"  You  know,"  she  said,  "  if  I  can  really  get  to  sleep, 
it  may  pass  off.  I've  told  Poline  not  to  disturb  me, 
and  I  want  to  beg  you  not  even  to  knock  at  the  door, 
when  you  come  up  to  bed.  I  must  lie  perfectly  quiet." 

"  Why,  certainly,"  said  Dwight,  taking  her  very 
gently  in  his  arms.  "  If  you'll  promise  to  call  me  if 
the  pain  gets  worse." 

"  Yes,  —  I'll  promise,  —  if  the  pain  gets  worse," 
she  answered,  staring  up  at  him  as  though  she  had 
not  seen  him  for  a  month. 


122  RED  HORSE  HILL 

"  How  big  and  dark  your  eyes  are,  Maris.  I'm 
afraid  this  is  no  ordinary  headache." 

"  I'm  not  going  to  be  ill,"  she  told  him.  "  I  haven't 
time.  Just  let  me  be  quiet." 

He  stooped  for  a  last  embrace,  when  she  threw  her 
arms  upward,  clasping  him  with  so  tense  and  passion- 
ate a  force  that  again  his  fears  were  stirred.  "  What 
is  the  matter,  darling?  "  he  pleaded.  "  Are  you  ma- 
king yourself  sick  over  that  injured  child?  " 

"  You  must  not  trouble  about  her,  —  or  me," 
said  Maris.  "  0,  Dwight,  I  am  glad  you  are  the 
kind  of  man  you  are,  —  brave,  sensible,  a  little  cold, 

—  not  carried  away  by  feeling  as  I  am.    Yes,  yes,  I 
know  you  love  me,"  she  hurried  on,  putting  a  small 
hand  across  his  lips  to  check  a  threatened  interrup- 
tion.   "  Your  love  is  fine  and  true,  better  than  any 
I  can  give,  and  yet  you  will  never  touch  the  ecstasies, 

—  the  depths,  —  that  this  weak,   foolish  Maris  of 
yours  has  touched.    Won't  you  always  remember  this, 

—  that  to  the  last  fibre  of  my  body,  —  the  last  throb 
of  my  woman's  heart,  I  have  loved  you,  —  do  love 
you,  —  and  must  always  love.    I'm  not  speaking  this 
lightly.    I  know  what  I  mean  better  than  you  realize. 
Don't  let  anything  make  you  believe  that,  hi  my  poor 
way,  I  have  not  truly  loved  and  will  not  always  adore 
you,  —  my    husband,  —  my    dear,    dear   husband." 

"  How  you  shiver,  poor  darling!  Your  hands  are 
growing  cold  again.  Yes,  I  see  you  must  be  quiet. 
Lie  here,  sweetheart.  Remember,  too,  that  I  am 
loving  you,  and  longing  for  you  to  be  your  own  bright 
self  again." 

She  took  his  farewell  kiss  in  silence,  without  re- 
sponse. But,  long  after  he  had  left  she  lay  motion- 
less, her  eyes  closed,  reliving  the  pressure  of  his  lips. 


CHAPTER   NINE 

NIGHT   UPON   RED   HORSE   HILL 

FROM  the  tense  stillness  of  her  room  Maris  could 
hear  various  sounds  of  life  that  came,  now  from  the 
servants'  quarters  in  the  rear,  now  from  the  mam  body 
of  the  house,  down-stairs,  where  Alden,  Ruth  and 
Dr.  Page  were  talking,  and,  again  from  the  street 
where,  at  infrequent  intervals,  a  wagon  or  a  buggy 
passed,  or,  on  the  cemented  pavement,  the  faint 
patter  of  human  feet. 

One  by  one  these  sounds  diminished.  The  Alden 
home  was  at  some  distance  from  the  "  city,"  in  the 
district  bravely  called  "  The  Residential  Quarter." 
As  yet  the  more  imposing  mansions  were  few  in 
number  and  quite  far  apart,  though  the  building  of 
them  went  steadily  on.  Twilight  comes  quickly 
in  the  Southern  States,  so  that  the  evenings,  es- 
pecially in  the  suburbs,  fallen  suddenly,  assert  then* 
presence  with  something  of  defiance.  No  one  could 
deny  the  evening  loneliness  of  aristocratic  Sidon. 
By  eight  o'clock  Dr.  Page  had  gone.  The  servants' 
quarters  were  as  dark  and  still  as  midnight.  Aunt 
Mandy  had  doubtless  crept  up  into  her  huge  four- 
poster  bed,  a  relic  bequeathed  from  the  golden  days 
of  the  Virginia  Blakes;  but  Archer  and  Poline  were 
most  probably  lending  the  grace  of  their  double 
presence  to  a  function  of  "  The  Colored  Ladies  and 
Gents'  Roosevelt  Social  Circle  of  Sidon."  The  negro 


124  RED  HORSE  HILL 

loves  alliteration  as  he  does  music.  These  names 
were  sweet  morsels  under  the  tongue. 

Ruth  and  her  brother  were  still  down-stairs  talking, 
or  perhaps,  writing  letters.  Maris  listened  intently, 
but  could  hear  no  sound  of  voices.  She  rose  softly 
from  the  couch,  and  looked  about  the  little  chamber. 
An  electric  arc-light,  suspended  from  tall  poles  in  the 
centre  of  the  narrow  side  street,  shone  in  through 
the  one  window,  giving  her  what  light  she  needed. 
She  went  to  her  dresser,  and  had  begun  to  open  the 
topmost  drawer,  when,  moved  by  a  new  thought, 
she  turned  and,  hurrying  to  the  window,  stood  staring 
out.  This  faced  the  east.  The  blue  glare  and  un- 
certain flicker  of  the  great  lamp  blinded  her.  She 
put  up  her  hand  to  interpose,  but  finding  that  too 
small,  caught  up  a  magazine  for  screening.  Over 
the  top  of  this  she  could  see  that  the  sky  was  a  dull, 
grape  blue,  powdered  thickly  with  yellow  stars. 
When  more  accustomed  to  the  darkness,  she  dis- 
cerned the  cloud-like  bulk  of  Red  Horse  Hill,  and  its 
bristling  mane  of  trees.  The  stars  were  clear  above 
it.  Two  weeks  ago  she  could  have  seen  on  such  a 
night,  through  scantily  leaved  boughs,  great  flashes 
and  gleams  of  the  larger  stars,  like  fireflies  in  a  web, 
but  now  the  foliage  was  too  dense.  There  was  only 
the  continuous,  undulating  line  of  trees,  broken  at 
times  by  the  flat  crest  of  a  soaring  pine. 

Turning  from  the  window,  she  began  to  strip  off, 
feverishly,  her  silken  garments,  hanging  them  far 
back  in  the  closet.  There  was  one  hook  near  the  door 
from  which  a  very  different  outfit  already  depended, 
a  short  walking  skirt  of  gray,  a  flannel  shirt-waist, 
and  a  jacket  which,  though  of  good  material,  was 
unpretentious  and  had  always  been  too  large  for 
her.  A  small  hat  was  now  deliberately  denuded  of  its 
flowers  and  feathers,  to  be  wrapped  in  a  long,  green 


NIGHT  UPON  RED  HORSE  HILL      125 

automobile  veil.  She  returned,  next,  to  the  dressing- 
table,  opened  the  drawer,  took  out  her  pocketbook, 
and,  after  some  thought,  extracted  a  ten  dollar  bill 
only,  which  she  put  deep  down  in  her  jacket  pocket. 
The  plainest  of  her  handkerchiefs,  a  pair  of  driving 
gloves  already  soiled  and  a  pair  of  rubber  overshoes 
completed  her  attire.  Finding  herself  indeed  ready 
for  her  first  step  in  the  dark,  she  gave  a  little  gasp, 
and  her  courage  faltered. 

She  went  again  to  the  window,  as  if  for  strength, 
staring  upward  at  the  great  hill,  and  thinking  of 
what  lay  beyond.  The  vision  of  that  perfect  morning 
when  she  and  Dwight  had  driven  through  its  crowning 
strip  of  wood,  rushed  to  her  eyes  in  tears.  How  sweet 
had  been  the  odor  of  the  green  shade.  How  the 
brisk  violets  had  watched  them!  "They  will  hide 
their  faces  when  I  pass,  to-night,"  she  murmured. 

But  this  was  no  time  for  sentiment  or  reminiscence. 
There  was  something  to  be  done.  First,  a  cautious 
descent  down  the  back  stairway  to  the  servants' 
court,  then  safe  exit  through  the  gate  at  the  rear 
of  the  lot.  This  led,  directly,  into  a  little  back  alley, 
guiltless,  as  yet,  of  grading  or  of  drains,  and  used 
chiefly  for  the  heavy  teams  that  brought  coal,  ice, 
wood,  and  building  materials. 

She  shut  the  door  of  her  dressing  room  very  softly 
and  went  out.  One  step  after  another  she  took,  de- 
scending, and  paused  at  each  to  listen.  The  new 
woodwork  gave  forth,  at  unexpected  moments,  small 
fierce  squeaks  of  protest;  and  at  each  Maris'  heart 
beat  to  suffocation,  so  that  she  must  pause  before 
venturing  on  the  next  lower  step.  At  one  such 
intermission  a  series  of  most  alarming  sounds  came 
from  Aunt  Mandy's  room.  Maris  clung  to  the  railing. 
An  instant  later  she  was  smiling  to  recognize  the 
old  cook's  peaceful,  if  stentorian  snores. 


126  RED  HORSE  HILL 

But  now,  surely,  some  one  was  walking  in  the  house. 
The  big  back  door  to  the  main  hallway  still  stood 
wide,  and  down  this  hall  Mr.  Alden  moved.  Here  was 
real  danger.  In  her  present  position  the  hall  light 
fell  all  too  plainly  on  her  crouching  figure.  She  did 
not  dare  to  move;  but  if  her  husband  came,  even  to 
the  threshold  of  the  door,  she  must  inevitably  be 
seen.  She  shut  her  eyes  and  drew  herself  down  as 
far  as  she  dared.  Every  instant  she  expected  to 
hear  his  voice.  But  instead  came  a  blessed  sensation 
of  deepening  darkness.  He  was  turning  off  the  house 
lights.  Now  she  need  not  tremble,  even  when  he 
walked  boldly  to  the  door,  shut  the  two  panels,  and 
bolted  them  from  within.  He  did  not  see  her,  even 
when  she  stretched  her  arms  to  him  and  spoke  his 
name. 

For  caution's  sake  she  remained  as  she  was  a 
few  moments  longer.  Aunt  Mandy's  snores  shook 
the  window-panes.  Now  was  the  time  to  hurry  across 
the  red  clay  of  the  unfinished  court,  and  find  the  gate 
which  she  knew  must  open  into  the  alley.  Such 
narrow  red  mud  lanes  seem,  in  the  South,  never  to 
become  dry.  At  her  first  step  the  viscid  clay  caught 
at  her  overshoe  and  dragged  it  off.  She  rescued  and 
readjusted  it,  only  to  have  the  second  shoe  taken  at 
the  next  step.  For  a  few  yards  she  floundered, 
stopping  constantly,  then  seeing  that,  at  this  rate,  her 
destined  journey  would  take  most  of  the  night,  de- 
liberately flung  the  shoes,  as  far  as  her  strength 
would  permit,  over  into  the  nearest  unbuilt  field. 

Now  she  made  better  progress,  though  still  the  clay 
wrapped  her  feet  in  its  chilling  layers,  and  soon  re- 
duced her  dainty  boots  to  wet  glove-kid.  She  needed 
to  stop  now  and  again  to  scrape  off  the  accumulated 
masses,  but,  aside  from  this  impediment,  her  journey 
was  swift  and  sure. 


NIGHT  UPON  RED  HORSE  HILL     127 

She  passed  no  one,  not  even  a  policeman.  If  Sidon 
boasted  a  police  force  at  all,  it  evidently  preferred 
the  blazing  windows  of  hotel,  shop  or  barroom  to 
these  half -deserted  precincts  of  the  rich.  Down  into 
the  valley  to  the  east  and  along  the  left  fork  of  the 
road  that  led  up  Red  Horse  Hill  she  hurried.  There 
was  an  easier  and  a  shorter  foot-path  around  the  base 
of  the  hill  to  the  right,  following  the  line  of  car  tracks 
and  trestlework  to  the  Regina  mill  and  its  Red  Vil- 
lage, but  Maris  had  never  heard  of  this.  She  knew 
only  the  long  and  curving  road  upon  which  Peggy 
had  drawn  her,  a  certain  spring  morning,  centuries 
ago,  when  the  way  had  not  seemed  long. 

By  this  time  she  was  half-way  up  the  slope.  Her 
shoes  were  so  wet  and  her  feet  so  chilled  that  now  she 
stooped  and  put  an  ungloved  hand  on  them,  to  con- 
vince herself  that  any  shoes  remained.  Her  skirt  was 
weighted  about  the  edge  with  nuggets  of  dried  mud. 
Some  of  these  had  grown  so  large  and  heavy  by  accre- 
tion that  they  dropped  from  her  by  their  own  weight. 
She  slipped  the  glove  on  again,  and  gazed  upward. 
Directly  over  her  head  the  black  mane  seemed  to 
rise.  By  leaning  far  backward,  and  gazing  as  one 
stares  at  a  "  skied  "  effort  in  a  picture-gallery,  she 
could  see  the  dark  cloud-like  border  cutting  across 
the  girth  of  starry  Orion.  To  the  south,  glittering 
Scorpio  swung  complete,  an  outline  of  perfect  jewelry. 
It  came  over  her  all  at  once  how  much  more  beautiful 
and  human  were  these  stars  than  those  cold,  Northern 
ones  she  used  to  watch  through  the  street-canyons 
of  New  York.  So  much  of  the  South  was  exquisite, 
so  steeped  in  memories  of  a  happy  childhood,  that  it 
had  seemed  to  her,  by  reflex,  as  if  all  Southern  chil- 
dren must  be  happy  ones.  The  "  grown-folks  "  in 
her  childhood's  south  were  kind,  —  perhaps  too  kind. 
Flowers  grew  there,  not  only  in  the  city  gardens  but 


128  RED  HORSE  HILL 

planted  wide  on  the  hills  for  every  child  to  gather. 
Scaly-barks,  walnuts  and  chinquapin  abounded,  and 
sometimes  one  encountered  the  marvel  of  a  wild 
plum-tree  in  fruit,  or  a  ripe  may-pop,  puckered 
with  sweetness.  To  think  of  her  South  as  now 
she  was  being  forced  to  think  of  it,  as  a  place  where 
many,  many  children  of  pure  blood  were  being 
starved,  over-worked  and  maltreated,  where  one 
child  lay  even  now  in  jeopardy  of  death,  because 
of  cruelty,  was  a  sensation  so  fearful,  so  incredible, 
that  the  stars  dimmed  before  her  eyes,  and  she  cried 
out,  in  the  darkness,  "  Let  the  dream  pass.  It  must 
be  an  evil  dream  from  which  I'll  soon  be  waking." 

But  there  was  something  to  be  done.  She  stag- 
gered on,  climbing  the  slippery  height,  and  soon 
reached  the  strip  of  wood.  By  contrast  with  its 
blackness,  the  hill  outside  was  a  lighted  street.  At 
first  she  could  not  see  the  winding  road,  but  she 
knew  she  was  upon  it  by  the  soft  crumbling  touch 
under  her  stiffening  feet.  A  childish  and  instinctive 
fear  of  wild  beasts  assailed  her.  For  an  instant  she 
stood  still,  trembling.  The  woods  grew  full  of  small, 
mysterious  sounds.  She  listened,  fearfully,  with 
clasped  hands,  then  all  at  once  gave  a  low  laugh 
of  bitterness  at  the  farce  of  it.  Why  should  she  be 
afraid?  What  serpent  knew  so  deadly  a  lymph  as 
that  hi  her  own  miserable  heart?  What  mountain 
beast  had  claws  so  fierce  as  those  lean  fingers  of  the 
Furies,  clutching  already  at  her  hair? 

She  went  on  swiftly,  keeping  to  the  road  more  by 
the  quality  of  the  sand  underfoot  than  by  any  sense 
of  vision.  It  was  a  relief  to  walk,  once  more,  upon 
a  comparative  level,  and  to  feel  the  clogged  edges  of 
her  skirt  being  set  free  through  powdering  dust. 

When  she  came  out  to  the  further  verge  of  the 
forest,  the  stars  in  the  wide,  purple  sky  were  a  myriad 


NIGHT  UPON  RED  HORSE  HILL    129 

lamps  upheld  that  she  might  see.  The  small  houses 
of  the  mill  village  had,  under  this  dim  light,  the  look 
of  solid  blocks  set  by  some  giant  child  at  play  about 
the  surface  of  a  sand  heap.  The  incipient  gullies, 
and  the  deepening  roadways  hi  the  clay  were  not 
visible. 

Down  in  the  valley,  beyond  and  below  the  rows 
of  blocks,  sat  the  great  parent  block,  the  Mill.  In 
more  than  one  of  the  basement  windows  the  flicker 
of  a  light  was  seen,  marking  the  passage  of  a  night 
watchman.  There  were  times  when  the  great  factory 
never  rested,  when  a  "  night  shift  "  of  hands  came 
on  at  sunset  to  relieve  the  regular  laborers  of  the  day; 
but,  at  present,  because  of  recent  financial  condi- 
tions in  the  North,  the  night  shift  was  not  needed. 

Peering  down  eagerly  into  the  village,  Maris  could 
see  but  a  single  light,  set  in  a  cottage  window  facing 
her,  about  half-way  down  the  slope.  She  had  no 
doubt  as  to  the  location,  and  hurried  on.  Drawing 
nearer,  she  saw  that  it  was  not  a  candle,  but  a  small, 
cheap  kerosene  lamp,  and  that  the  window  through 
which  it  shone  was  tightly  closed,  though  the  wooden 
shutters  were  left  back  against  the  wall. 

Although  both  mill  and  village  were  thus  in  com- 
parative darkness,  there  was  one  spot  in  the  valley 
where  light  blazed  forth.  No  barroom  or  theatre 
front  in  a  great  city  was  more  prodigal  of  electricity 
than  the  Regina's  "  store,"  with  its  indispensable 
saloon. 

The  institution  known  roughly  as  "  the  store  "  is, 
to  the  successful  running  of  a  Southern  cotton-mill, 
quite  as  necessary  as  the  machinery  or  the  "  hands." 
It  is  always  the  sole  property  of  the  mill,  the  wages 
of  whose  employees,  due  twice  in  a  month,  are  paid, 
not  in  money,  but  in  tickets  or  coupons,  negotiable 
only  at  the  mill  store.  The  percentages  charged  on 


130  RED  HORSE  HILL 

bare  necessities  of  life,  —  bacon,  lard,  flour  and  hom- 
iny, —  to  laborers  already  underpaid,  adds  enor- 
mously to  the  general  mill  profits.  Like  their  parents 
or  masters,  the  children's  wages  are  paid  in  store- 
coupons,  and  these  are  given  to  the  elders  to  spend  as 
they  see  fit.  The  little  slaves,  whose  work  is  seldom 
less  than  full  twelve  hours  a  day,  and  who  are  often 
more  skilled  than  the  adult  standing  next  them, 
receive  half  pay,  ostensibly  because  of  their  youth. 
In  return  for  the  very  essence  of  the  immature  lives, 
they  receive  insufficient  and  unhealthy  food,  a  ver- 
min-ridden bunch  of  rags  to  sleep  on,  and  a  covering 
for  nakedness  scarcely  to  be  dignified  by  the  name 
of  dress.  Statistics  such  as  these  had  filled  the  echoes 
at  the  Brattle  house  since  Ruth's  arrival.  They  came 
rushing  back  to  Maris'  memory  now,  and  set  her  to 
stumbling  on  the  steep  path. 

After  a  few  more  silent,  hurrying  moments  of 
descent,  she  had  reached  the  hovel  and  paused  di- 
rectly under  the  window  which  had  held  her  beacon 
light.  The  thin  board  walls  of  the  house  came  near 
to  the  earth  on  this  upward  side.  She  could  have 
looked  into  the  sick-room  had  she  dared.  The  light, 
streaming  upward  from  the  distant  store,  made  a 
clear  rectangle  of  black  shadow.  In  this  she  hid, 
pressing  her  cheek  and  ear  against  the  house,  and 
listening  intently. 

At  first  there  was  no  distinct  sound,  though  the 
silence  was  itself  pregnant  with  restlessness.  Some- 
thing like  a  moan  came,  only  to  be  stilled.  Now,  dis- 
tinctly, she  heard  the  voice  of  a  child,  saying  over 
and  over  the  one  word,  "  water."  No  one  came 
to  her,  though  a  gruff  sort  of  answer  might  be  heard 
from  a  more  distant  part  of  the  room.  Now  the  feeble 
voice  was  raised.  "  Kaint  I  hev  jes'  one  more  swal- 
ler?  My  throat's  killin' me." 


NIGHT  UPON  RED  HORSE  HILL     131 

The  gruff  sound  came  again,  more  audibly,  and 
was  followed  by  heavy,  shambling  footsteps  on  the 
floor.  These,  Maris  guessed,  belonged  to  Winch, 
and  she  blessed  the  man  softly  because  he  was  bring- 
ing the  sick  child  what  she  craved. 

But  this  was  evidently  not  his  motive.  He  went 
to  the  front  door  and  opened  it,  and  was  passing  out, 
still  mumbling,  when  the  shrill,  nasal  tones  of  a  third 
person  cried  to  him,  "  An'  now  whar  you  think 
you're  goin'?  " 

"  What's  that  to  you?    I'm  goin'." 

"  Down  to  that  cursed  store  agin,  —  drinkin'  up 
what  me  an'  Lisshy  makes." 

"Well,  an'  what  uv  it!"  repeated  the  man  in  a 
hoarse,  thickened  voice.  "  I'm  goin',  an'  that's 
all  erbout  it.  I  can't  git  no  sleep  with  that  kid 
nickerin'  like  er  sick  colt.  Haven't  closed  my  eyes." 

"  You  kin  sleep  all  day  while  I'm  workin',"  re- 
torted the  woman.  "  Wouldn't  hurt  you  to  give  her 
a  dipper  uv  water  onst  in  a  while  an'  let  me  git  my 
rest.  I'm  jes  erbout  wore  to  a  frazzle  between  you 
an'  her." 

The  man's  reply  to  this  was  a  curse,  and  a  bang 
of  the  door  that  made  the  frail  house  shiver.  The 
woman  rose  hurriedly  and  went  after  him,  reopening 
the  door.  She  did  not  speak  to  him  again,  but  stood 
in  the  entrance  watching  him  with  a  resentment 
and  disgust  so  powerful  that  Maris  could  feel  it  where 
she  hid.  The  woman's  voice  had,  all  along,  been  un- 
mistakable. It  was  Jane  Rumbough's  beyond  doubt, 
though  sharpened,  fretted  and  grown  more  nasal 
with  the  hardness  and  poverty  of  her  life.  Maris 
could  almost  pity  her  that,  after  having  lost  the  man 
for  whom  she  had  given  up  honor,  decency,  and  every- 
thing that  makes  life  worth  while  to  a  good  woman, 
she  should  have  chosen  a  second  mate  so  much  lower 


132  RED  HORSE  HILL 

and  more  degraded.  She  watched,  too,  as  through 
Jane  Rumbough's  eyes,  the  lurching  figure  as  it  took 
precarious  passage  down  the  slope.  Not  only  a  drunk- 
ard, but  unmistakably  a  diseased  and  useless  wreck. 
Now  he  was  silhouetted  clear  against  the  saloon  lights, 
a  shapeless,  bull-like  outline,  eloquent  of  infirmity. 

The  woman  in  the  doorway  turned,  and  was  slowly 
drawing  the  panel  to  a  close.  This  was  the  oppor- 
tunity. Maris  came  out  into  the  light,  her  veil  about 
her  face,  and  in  her  most  Northern  accent,  said: 
"  One  moment,  if  you  please." 

"Mercy!  Who's  that!"  Jane  Rumbough  cried. 
Then,  seeing  she  had  nothing  to  fear,  added,  with  a 
nervous  giggle:  "  You  sho'  scairt  the  gizzard  outer  me 
that  time!" 

"  Oh,  what's  happening  —  what's  happening  Maw- 
mer?  "  screamed  the  child's  voice  from  within. 

"  Nothin'.  Shet  up,  you!  "  said  Jane,  darting  her 
head  in  at  the  door  and  out  again.  She  regarded 
Maris  now  with  scrutiny.  Her  looks  were  not  friendly. 
"  Well,  what  are  you  after,  prowlin'  'round  here  this 
time  o'  night?  " 

"  I  heard  your  little  girl  was  hurt.  I  have  come 
to  see  her,"  Maris  answered. 

"  You  might  hev  saved  yerself  the  trouble,"  said 
the  other,  insolently,  and  almost  closed  the  door  in 
her  face.  "  Reckon  I  know  your  game.  You're  one 
o'  them  Meddlesome-Matties  from  up  North,  —  think 
you  kin  come  down  here  an'  run  us,  niggers  an' 
all." 

"  Indeed  I  am  not  that  kind,"  said  Maris  hastily. 
"  I  care  nothing  about  colored  people  or  attending 
to  others'  affairs.  I  only  feel  very  sorry  for  the  little 
girl  and  —  her  mother.  The  doctor  told  me  of  the 
accident." 

"O!    Then  you're  down  to  the  hotel,"  said  the 


NIGHT  UPON  RED  HORSE  HILL     133 

other  in  a  less  hostile  tone.  She  knew  that  travellers 
were  generally  prodigal  of  money ;  also  that  a  person 
just  passing  through  a  mill  town  was  not  so  apt  to 
make  trouble. 

Maris  neither  affirmed  nor  denied  her  last  inference. 
"  I  know  that  you  must  be  extremely  fatigued,"  she 
went  on,  throwing  what  pleading  she  dared  into  her 
voice,  "  and  I  thought  I'd  offer  to  sit  by  the  child's 
bed  for  a  while,  so  that  you  could  rest." 

"  We've  already  druv  off  Yankee  nurses  and  doc- 
tors fer  the  night." 

"  But  I  am  different,"  said  Maris. 

"  How  diffrunt?    Air  ye  rich?  " 

"  I  will  be  glad  to  give  you  money  for  the  child," 
said  Maris,  flushing  in  the  dark. 

"  And  air  ye  to  leave  these  parts  soon?  " 

"  Very  soon,"  said  Maris,  "  and  never  to  come 
back  at  all." 

"  How  much  money  ye  got  on  yer?  "  was  the  next 
question,  put  with  keen,  malicious  eyes. 

"  Only  ten  dollars.  But  here  it  is.  I  will  send  you 
more." 

This  argument  was  irresistible.  Jane  snatched  at 
the  crisp,  green  bill,  but  even  when  it  was  safely 
tucked  away  in  the  belt  of  her  nondescript  gown, 
hesitated  before  admitting  the  visitor. 

"  Water.  Jes'  one  swallow,"  moaned  Lisshy. 
"  My  throat  is  burnin'  up." 

Maris  went  in  before  the  other  could  stop  her. 
Jane  followed  a  little  sullenly.  "  Now,  none  uv  yer 
talk  erbout  how  old  she  is,  —  an'  how  long  she's 
worked  in  the  mill,  —  an'  all  that  funny  business," 
Jane  Rumbough  warned. 

"  No,  —  no,  indeed,"  murmured  Maris,  almost 
overcome,  now,  by  the  nearness  of  her  quest.  "  She 
must  not  talk  at  all  with  fever.  I'll  just  sit  here 


134  RED  HORSE  HILL 

quietly,  and  sometimes  give  her  water.  You  may  be 
perfectly  assured  of  my  good  faith." 

The  room  where  Lisshy  lay  was  to  the  left  as  one 
entered.  A  second  one  opened  to  the  right,  and  there 
was  a  door  between.  A  third  door  led  out  to  the  two 
strips  of  board  which  formed  the  "  back  gallery," 
and  which  terminated  in  the  closet-like  kitchen 
wing. 

The  first  sensation  upon  entering  was  that  of 
wonder  at  the  bareness  of  the  place.  No  unused 
garret  ever  had  an  aspect  less  homelike  or  less  human. 
The  air  was  tainted  with  the  odor  of  greasy  rags,  and 
the  cheap  fumes  of  the  lamp.  This  feeble  luminary 
stood  on  a  box  near  the  foot  of  the  bed.  A  bit  of 
paper,  a  broken  saucer,  some  medicine  and  a  few 
other  trifles  were  crowded  within  its  radius,  but 
Maris  barely  noted  them.  In  the  centre  of  the  rags 
Lisshy  lay,  the  huge  cocoon  of  her  wounded  arm 
making  a  brilliant  patch  of  cleanliness.  She  still 
wore  the  dress  hi  which  she  had  been  injured,  and 
her  hair  had  not  yet  been  unbraided,  or  cleansed 
of  its  lint  and  dust.  Even  the  small  pale  face  had 
not  been  washed,  so  busy  had  Ruth  and  the  doctor 
been  with  the  main  operation,  and  so  insensible  to 
dirt  had  the  parents  of  the  child  become.  All  these 
things  Maris  saw,  while  trying  not  to  see.  She  did 
not  wish  to  seem  to  scrutinize  while  Jane  was  at  her 
elbow.  She  did  not  even  wish  to  be  certain,  as  long 
as  Jane  breathed  in  the  same  air.  For  this  strange 
sacrament  of  meeting,  only  she  and  Lisshy  and 
God  must  be  near. 

"  Is  that  the  lady  that  wants  to  set  by  my  bed?  " 
asked  Lisshy  in  an  awed  whisper. 

"  Yes,  dear.  If  Mrs.  Winch  will  allow  it,"  an- 
swered Maris,  in  her  crisp,  forced  voice.  She  fancied 
that  the  child  shrank  from  the  tone.  She  turned, 


NIGHT  UPON  RED  HORSE  HILL     135 

a  little  hesitatingly,  to  Jane.  "  May  I  have  a  chair, 
here,  —  beside  her?  " 

Jane  laughed  harshly.  "  Furniture  ain't  in  fashion 
in  de  Red  Village.  We  take  a  notion  to  move  too 
often.  Reckon  ye'll  hev  to  set  on  soap  an'  cracker 
boxes  like  the  rest  uv  us." 

"  Why,  certainly,"  said  Maris,  looking  about.  "  A 
box  will  do  quite  well." 

She  found  one  and  carried  it  to  the  bed,  choosing 
the  right  side  where  the  lamp  would  be  nearly  at 
her  back.  Jane  stood  watching  her,  with  scorn  and 
curiosity,  but  no  recognition  on  her  hard,  worn  face. 
To  her  it  was  but  a  vagary,  —  a  passing  fad  of  a  rich 
Yankee  woman,  stirred  for  the  time  being  by  a  more 
than  usually  poignant  exhibition  of  wretchedness. 
To  those  whose  very  existence  means  despair  these 
momentary  dallyings  with  sorrow  seem  almost 
effrontery. 

Maris  sat  down,  and  was  glad  of  the  respite.  Her 
limbs  had  begun  to  tremble.  She  knew  that  the 
child's  uninjured  right  hand  lay  a  few  inches  from  her 
on  the  dingy  coverlid,  and  that  the  great  dark  eyes 
were  trying  to  peer  through  the  meshes  of  the  veil. 
She  longed  to  lift  the  veil,  —  to  speak  her  first  real 
word.  Would  Jane  never  go?  Now  she  had  moved  a 
little. 

"  Remember,"  she  was  warning,  "  no  pryin'  ques- 
tions, —  no  rubberin'.  An'  I'll  hev  to  turn  you  out 
as  soon  as  I  hear  her  paw  comin'.  He'd  skin  me  alive 
fer  lettin'  you  in  here,  an'  take  ther  money  into  ther 
bargain.  Oh,  he's  a  sweet  man,  is  Jim  Winch." 

"  I  will  remember,"  said  Maris.  "  An'  when  you 
tell  me  he  is  comin'  I'll  go  out  quickly,  so  that  he  will 
not  see.  Where  is  the  water  kept?  " 

"  In  that  lard  bucket  near  the  head  uv  the  bed. 
Ye'll  hev  ter  be  keerful.  The  dipper  leaks." 


136  RED  HORSE  HILL 

"  I'll  be  careful,  —  about  everything/'  said  Maris. 

Under  the  green  veil  she  shut  her  burning  eyes,  and 
bit  her  lips  together.  Jane  was  quite  still  again, 
looking  down  upon  her.  Well,  if  the  recognition  had 
to  come,  —  why,  let  it.  Nothing  should  keep  Maris 
now  from  absolute  certainty.  Already  she  was 
practically  sure.  A  moment  alone  with  Lisshy,  a 
touch  of  the  hand  lying  so  near,  and  the  last  possi- 
bility of  doubt  would  go  forever. 

At  last  Jane  turned  away.  She  had  suspected,  or, 
at  least,  determined  nothing,  though  her  face  showed 
that  the  stranger  puzzled  her.  With  some  osten- 
tation she  went  into  the  adjoining  room  and  began 
tugging  at  the  pile  of  rags  that  she  called  bed,  until, 
when  she  lay  down,  she  could  still  keep  Maris  and  the 
child  within  her  line  of  vision.  But  this  did  not 
trouble  Maris.  Even  to  have  her  in  another  room 
was  a  relief.  Soon  the  poor  tired  creature  would 
fall  off  to  sleep. 

She  waited  in  perfect  silence.  The  sick  child  on 
the  bed  must  have  felt,  by  instinct,  the  tremendous 
import  of  the  hour,  for  she,  too,  was  still,  asking 
no  more  for  water,  —  and  waiting,  —  waiting  breath- 
lessly to  see  what  this  strange  lady  was  to  do  now 
that  they  were  alone. 

Jane  tossed  upon  her  rags,  and  sighed.  Her  back 
was  to  the  other  room.  Maris  moved  around  until 
more  of  the  lamplight  would  flood  her  face,  and  then 
slowly  lifted  the  veil.  Lisshy's  eyes,  large,  brilliant, 
and  full  of  a  suppressed  excitement,  were  fixed  upon 
her.  They  looked  thus,  each  into  the  other's  eyes  for 
what  seemed  a  century.  Then  Maris  put  out  her 
hand.  The  child  shivered,  and  for  an  instant  let 
her  lids  fall.  A  feeling  of  delicious  peace  crept  over 
her.  She  could  rest  now  while  this  wonderful  lady 
held  her  hand.  She  did  not  want  to  sleep,  because 


NIGHT  UPON  RED  HORSE  HILL     137 

she  feared  the  vision  would  go.  Just  to  he  there,  with 
that  touch  upon  her.  When  she  looked  up  again  she 
thought  that  a  new  light  must  have  come  into  the 
room,  —  but  it  was  only  the  reflection  of  the  lady's 
face  on  hers. 


CHAPTER  TEN 

THE   LAUGHING   OWL 

SUCH  moments  can  not,  from  their  very  nature, 
persist.  They  are  the  poise  of  an  arrow  which  must 
inevitably  fall,  the  high  note  of  a  song  which  must 
come  to  a  close.  Already  the  child's  great  eyes  had 
begun  to  question.  Maris  felt  that  she  must  break 
the  silence,  and  so  leaned  over,  asking,  "  Does  the 
poor  little  arm  hurt  much,  now?  " 

Relief  showed  in  Lisshy's  face.  The  very  com- 
monplaceness  of  the  words  put  her  at  ease. 

"  Nome.  Not  so  much."  Then  she  added,  as  if 
wishing  to  be  accurate:  "The  doctor  he  put  some 
cold  stuff  on  it  so's  to  keep  it  from  hurtin'  too  much." 

"  Ah,  that  was  good,"  said  Maris. 

Her  smile  was  echoed  faintly  by  the  small  face 
among  the  parti-colored  rags.  A  new  silence  fell  over 
the  room.  From  the  adjoining  chamber  came  heavy, 
regular  breathing,  telling  them  that  Jane  Rum- 
bough  had  fallen  into  exhausted  sleep.  Lisshy  evi- 
dently felt  it  incumbent  upon  her  to  entertain  the 
visitor. 

"  Las'  year  the  nail  to  me  t'um'  (thumb)  was  tore 
clean  off,"  she  announced,  not  without  pride. 

Maris  tried  to  restrain  her  shudder.  "  Which 
hand,  —  this?  "  she  asked,  lifting  the  right  one. 

"  Nome.  This  here  tied  up  hand.  The  nail's 
growed  back  sence.  Hit  don't  look  so  very  bad. 


THE  LAUGHING  OWL  139 

Some  o'  the  girls  is  got  whole  fingers  chopped  off. 
The  machinery  does  it,  ef'n  you  don't  look  out." 

This  time  the  shudder  was  not  to  be  repressed. 
"  It  is  sickening  to  think  of! "  she  murmured. 

"  De  doctor-man  was  fer  sawin'  my  whole  arm 
off,"  cried  Lisshy,  pleased  with  the  emotion  she 
evoked.  "  But  dat  Yankee  lady  wouldn't  let  him 
do  it." 

Marls  dropped  her  head,  whispering  some  indis- 
tinguishable words.  Lisshy  felt  them  to  be  com- 
mendatory of  the  Yankee  lady,  and  went  on:  "  She 
was  sure  nice.  I  never  see  sech  a  clean  lady."  Her 
eyes  seemed  to  add,  "  and  you  are  nice,  too,"  but 
the  child's  lips  were  too  shy  to  speak  the  words. 

Maris  slipped  from  the  hard  box  to  her  knees, 
bringing  her  face  closer  to  Lisshy,  and  with  a  trem- 
bling hand  began  to  smooth  out  the  matted  tresses, 
and  remove  the  scraps  of  cotton  lint. 

"  Is  there  a  comb  and  brush  that  I  could  get?  " 
she  asked.  Always  the  speaking  was  in  low  tones, 
for  fear  that  Jane  would  wake. 

"  Paw's  got  a  comb  some'ere.  Me  an'  Mawmer 
don't  hev  time  to  use  none.  Hit  mus'  be  in  the  next 
room,  I  reckon." 

"  Never  mind.  I'll  take  one  of  my  own  side 
combs,  —  it  will  answer  beautifully.  Now,  dear, 
tell  me  if  I  hurt  you." 

"  Yes'm,"  replied  Lisshy,  meekly.  She  longed 
to  say  that  she  did  not  believe  so  kind  a  touch  could 
ever  hurt.  Once  freed  and  smooth,  the  quality  of 
Lisshy's  hah*  was  exquisite,  the  color  a  rich  seal- 
brown  with  no  hint  of  red,  matching  the  older  head 
that  bent  so  near. 

"  I  never  was  clost  to  anybody  what  smelt  sweet 
like  you,"  said  Lisshy,  after  some  moments  of  this 
wordless  ceremony. 


140  RED  HORSE  HILL 

Maris  could  only  smile  at  her. 

"  'Cep'n,"  the  child  went  on,  "  that  old  dream  uv 
mine."  Her  brows  puckered.  She  tried,  evidently, 
to  catch  the  end  of  a  drifting  thought. 

"  What  sort  of  a  dream  was  that?  " 

"  Erbout  a  lady,  —  a  lady  jes'  like  you.  She  used 
to  lif  me  up,  an'  hold  me  tight  in  her  arms,  like  I  was 
a  kid.  An'  de  sweet  smell  flowed  all  'round  us,  jes' 
like  it  is  doin'  this  minute." 

Maris  swallowed  hard.  "  Do  you  ever  have  that 
dream  now?  "  she  questioned. 

"  Not  hardly  ever,"  answered  Lisshy,  and  shook 
her  head  mournfully.  "  I  used  to  all  the  time.  Wunst 
I  tole  Paw  erbout  it.  He  was  that  mad  he  cussed  an' 
knocked  me  on  the  head  so  that  I  had  a  risin'.  I 
ain't  never  spoke  of  it  to  anybody  else,  until  jes'  now." 

"  I'm  glad  you  told  me,  dear.  I  wish  you  would 
tell  me  all  your  dreams  and  thoughts.  You  don't 
have  many  people  to  speak  to  beside  the  mill  la- 
borers, do  you?  " 

"  Nome.  They  ain't  no  time.  Besides,  de  over- 
seer is  allays  tellin'  us  not  to  talk  with  no  outside 
people  that  asts  us  questions.  I  don't  know  why, 
but  our  folks  beats  us  terrible  if  we  answers  ques- 
tions. I  reckon  they  is  ashamed  uv  us  bein'  under- 
sized. They  makes  the  littlest  ones  run  an'  hide 
when  strange  visitors  gits  into  de  mills.  De  over- 
seer won't  even  let  de  Yankee  bosses  see  us." 

"  Yes,  dear,  —  but  I  mustn't  let  you  talk  so 
much  now.  I  promised  your  —  Mrs.  Winch  —  I 
wouldn't.  It  will  make  your  fever  worse.  Don't 
you  want  some  water?  " 

The  child  nodded  eagerly,  and  tried  to  rise  on  the 
uninjured  elbow. 

"  Don't  move  an  inch,"  said  Maris  hastily.  "  I 
can  lift  your  head  and  give  you  the  water,  too." 


THE  LAUGHING  OWL  141 

This  proved  a  more  difficult  operation  than  she 
had  thought,  owing  to  the  many  pinhole  leaks  hi 
the  rusty  dipper.  Finally  by  wrapping  the  bowl  of 
it  in  her  linen  handkerchief,  and  giving  the  water 
before  the  cloth  was  entirely  saturated,  she  managed 
to  succeed. 

"  I  wisht  it  warn't  so  powerful  hot  an'  slimy," 
murmured  the  child. 

"  If  only  I  knew  where  to  go,  I  would  get  you 
some  fresh  water.  Couldn't  you  tell  me  where  the 
well  is?  " 

"  Hit's  a  pump,  way  round  the  other  side  o'  Miss 
Crabtree's  house,"  said  Lisshy.  "  But  I  don't  want 
you  to  go.  I'm  skeered  you  won't  come  back." 

"  0  Lisshy,  —  Lisshy,  —  I  would  never  go  away 
from  you  one  minute,  —  never  again,  —  if  only  — 

She  broke  off,  hiding  her  face  in  the  bed  clothes. 
The  heavy  breathing  in  the  next  room  had  ceased, 
but  whether  because  of  waking  or  a  profounder 
sleep,  Maris  could  only  guess.  It  served  neverthe- 
less to  recall  her  to  a  sense  of  danger,  and  she  sat 
upright  again  on  the  hard  box.  Lisshy,  for  the 
first  time,  closed  her  eyes,  and  began  to  toss  her  head 
restlessly  from  side  to  side.  "  My  head's  hurtin' 
bad  now,"  she  moaned,  "  an'  all  the  mill  buzzin'  is 
comin'  back  into  my  ears." 

"  Didn't  the  doctor  leave  some  instructions,  — 
some  medicines?  "  asked  Maris,  taking  alarm. 

Yes,  Jane  Rumbough  was  now  awake.  Maris 
heard  her  give  an  impatient  sound,  and  drag  herself 
upward  to  her  feet.  "  What's  up,  —  Lisshy  worse?  " 
she  asked,  slouching  into  the  sick-room. 

"  An  accession  of  fever,  I  fear,"  answered  Maris, 
primly  keeping  her  unveiled  face  out  of  the  light. 
"  Have  you  a  clinical  thermometer  so  that  I  may 
take  her  temperature?  " 


142  RED  HORSE  HILL 

Jane's  lip  curled  at  the  precision  and  pedantry  of 
this  Northern  woman's  speech.  "  I  bleeve  that  is 
something  he  called  a  cllnkerty  thermometer  over 
there  by  the  lamp,"  she  said,  with  a  careless  gesture 
in  that  direction.  "  He  tried  to  learn  me  how  to  read 
the  numbers,  —  but  Lord,  —  my  eyes  is  so  blind 
with  '  drawin'-in '  I  can't  hardly  read  the  circus 
signs." 

"  I  understand  how  to  do  it,"  said  Maris  eagerly. 
"  Is  there  a  pencil  and  a  piece  of  paper  to  register 
the  temperature?" 

"  I  bleeve  he  lef  those,  too,"  said  Jane  drily. 
"  I  don't  know  nothin'  about  registerin'  tempera- 
tures." 

Maris  glanced  swiftly  toward  the  box  that  served 
for  a  table.  Yes,  there  were  a  thermometer,  a  pencil 
and  a  chart.  She  longed  to  reach  and  use  them,  feel- 
ing, for  the  first  time  since  entering,  that  she  might 
accomplish  actual  good.  But  she  dared  not  walk  into 
that  circle  of  light,  however  wan,  while  Jane  stood 
near.  While  she  hesitated,  Jane  turned  toward  the 
front  door,  muttering:  "  Bleeve  I'll  step  out  an'  see 
ef  they's  any  signs  uv  Winch."  Before  she  reached 
the  knob,  Maris  had  taken  the  thermometer,  and  was 
slipping  it  under  Lisshy's  tongue.  The  act  of  service, 
small  though  it  was,  brought  to  her  heart  a  warm 
suffusion  of  gratitude,  —  to  her  aching  eyes  the  mist 
of  tears.  To  have  wept  at  this  moment,  openly, 
by  her  sick  child's  bed,  would  have  been  a  heavenly 
comfort.  But  the  time  had  not  come  for  that. 
Lisshy's  big  eyes  still  had  a  puzzled  look  in  them. 
They  both  could  hear  Jane's  step  upon  the  frail 
"  gallery  "  as  she  paced  up  and  down  looking  for 
the  drunken  beast  she  called  her  husband. 

When  the  three  minutes  were  surely  at  an  end, 
Maris  withdrew  the  thermometer,  and  took-  it  to 


THE  LAUGHING  OWL  143 

the  lamp.  In  the  instant  she  had  forgotten  Jane,  — 
forgotten  everything  but  that  she  must  record  ex- 
actly what  the  elusive  figures  registered.  She  turned 
the  shining  tube  this  way  and  that,  in  the  poor 
light,  bending  down  closer  and  closer.  "  One  hun- 
dred and  one  and  four  tenths,"  —  not  so  bad,  taking 
all  things  into  consideration. 

Lisshy  was  watching  her,  as  she  read  the  figures. 
Neither  noticed  that  Jane  Rumbough  stopped  at 
the  window  and  gazed  through  the  greenish  panes, 
at  first  with  a  look  of  curiosity  touched  with  scorn, 
then  with  a  start  of  wonder,  a  growing  recognition, 
—  a  surprise  so  great,  so  unexpected,  that  she  shrank 
back  in  the  dark,  pressing  her  scrawny  hands  upon 
her  lips  for  silence. 

"My  God!"  the  woman  whispered  to  herself. 
"  It's  her,  —  it's  Miss  Maris.  She's  run  us  down  at 
last!" 

For  an  instant  she  shrank  back  from  the  dim  light 
of  the  window,  and  remained  in  a  crouching  atti- 
tude of  fear.  Then  suddenly  she  wheeled  and  stared 
down  the  valley  to  the  bright  store.  "  What '11 
Jim  Winch  say  when  he  hears?  "  she  whispered.  Now 
she  crept  back  to  the  window.  Perhaps,  after  all, 
her  weary  eyes  had  played  her  false. 

Maris  still  stood  within  the  circle  of  light.  Her 
face,  aveHed,  was  set  hi  the  direction  of  Lisshy, 
and  the  long  green  veil  clouded  her  shoulders  and 
fell  far  below  the  waist.  Her  bare  left  hand,  hanging 
limp  against  the  dark  folds  of  skirt  and  veil,  showed 
clearly.  Jane  could  see  on  the  third  finger  a  little 
black  cameo  ring,  an  heirloom  that  Maris  had  always 
worn,  and,  above  it,  a  wedding-ring,  —  not  the  thin 
loop  of  pale  gold  which  the  ne'er-do-weel,  James 
Martin,  had  provided,  but  a  massive  flat  band, 
almost  red  with  its  heavy  lustre.  As  the  woman 


144  RED  HORSE  HILL 

stared,  motionless,  a  slow  look  of  relief  grew  upon 
her  face,  followed  by  a  more  acute  expression  of 
malicious  satisfaction. 

"  Married  ergin,  is  she?  "  the  thin  lips  muttered. 
"An'  married  rich,  I'll  bet,  fer  all  she's  dressed  up 
to-night  to  look  po'.  That's  the  reason  she  was 
skeered  fer  me  to  see  her  face.  Hump !  Ain't  claimin' 
Lisshy  in  no  sort  of  a  hurry,  neither!"  Here  she 
gave  a  chuckle.  "  Reck'n  me  an'  Jim's  all  right,  — 
all  right!" 

She  sauntered  back  now  into  the  sick-room,  trying 
to  speak  and  act  hi  her  former  sullen,  half-resentful 
manner.  It  was  hard  to  keep  the  excitement  out 
of  her  colorless  voice.  "  Guess  I'll  step  round  to  the 
pump,  an'  fetch  Lisshy  some  cool  water,"  she  an- 
nounced. 

"  Pray  do,"  said  Maris.  "  The  little  girl  was  wish- 
ing for  some.  Here's  the  pail."  She  stooped  to  lift 
the  rusty  utensil,  but  Jane  waved  it  back. 

"  Never  mind.  I've  got  plenty  mo'  lard  buckets. 
'Bout  all  you  do  make  outer  that  thievin'  store." 
Then,  narrowing  her  eyes,  as  if  to  see,  for  once,  the 
other's  face,  she  added:  "  Kin  I  count  on  you  stayin' 
here  with  Lisshy  till  I  git  back?  " 

"  Assuredly  you  may,"  returned  the  other.  "  She 
is  in  no  condition  to  be  left  alone." 

"  Then  I  kin  count  on  it,"  repeated  Jane,  with  a 
crooked  grin,  and  hurried  out  into  the  night.  How 
was  it  that  she  had  failed  to  recognize  that  voice, 
even  with  its  attempted  disguise  of  Northern  intona- 
tion? 

When  she  had  gone,  a  deeper  sense  of  nearness, 
of  a  more  utter  and  poignant  intimacy,  tugged  at 
the  hearts  of  the  mother  and  her  child.  The  la,tter 
had  no  clue  to  it.  The  mystery  troubled  even  while 
it  stirred  her,  and  now  it  began  to  mingle  with  the 


THE  LAUGHING  OWL  145 

excitement  of  her  fever.  Her  one  beautiful  dream 
came  back  in  glittering  fragments,  dissolving  even 
while  she  grasped  for  them.  Now  the  throbbing 
of  a  great  pain  came  to  the  bandaged  arm,  and  she 
cried  out  that  the  machinery  had  caught  her,  and 
was  tearing  her  to  pieces  against  the  floor. 

Maris,  filled  with  an  alarm  she  dared  not  show, 
looked  about  for  some  means  of  soothing  the  tor- 
tured child.  The  water  in  the  tin  pail  was  low,  but, 
since,  at  any  moment,  Jane  would  be  returning  with 
a  cooler  draught,  she  would  use  this  now  for  bathing 
the  sufferer's  hot  forehead.  She  took  her  linen  hand- 
kerchief, wrung  it  out  in  the  water,  and  began,  very 
gently,  to  pass  it  across  Lisshy's  brow.  The  child 
smiled  and  drew  a  sigh  as  of  deep  satisfaction.  The 
perfume  had  come  nearer  to  her  senses;  again  she 
possessed  her  dream,  and,  for  a  few  blessed  moments, 
she  slept. 

The  heart  of  the  watching  woman  seemed  about  to 
burst.  She  longed  to  cry  out,  to  wake  the  child  and 
tell  her  of  then*  true  relationship,  to  hold  the  meagre 
body  close,  —  close,  —  as  the  dream  lady  always 
did.  But  inch  by  inch  she  fought  back  these  fierce, 
maternal  impulses.  For  the  child's  sake  more  than 
her  own  she  must  keep  guard  upon  every  word. 
The  tension  could  not  last  long,  at  best.  She  felt 
the  hot  breath  of  the  Fates  upon  her  neck. 

Lisshy  had  opened  her  dark  eyes.  "  My!  but  that 
does  feel  good!"  she  murmured.  "Nobody  ain't 
never  done  that  to  me  before." 

"  Why,  dear,  I  do  believe  you  look  better  for  it 
already,"  answered  Maris,  with  a  smile  as  sweet  as 
the  child's  own.  "  Your  hair  is  soft  and  smooth 
as  a  little  brown  thrush's  breast.  Now  if  I  only  had 
a  fresh,  clean  '  nightie  '  to  slip  on,  instead  of  this  old 
day  dress,  you  would  be  perfect." 


146  RED  HORSE  HILL 

"  '  Nightie?  ' — what  do  you  mean  by  a  '  nightie? ' ' 
asked  the  child. 

Maris  laughed  tenderly.  "  Just  a  sort  of  pet  name 
for  a  dear  little  girl's  nightgown." 

Lisshy  still  looked  blank. 

"  Nightgown,  dear.  The  thin  white  garment  we 
put  on  at  bedtime  to  sleep  in."  Before  the  sentence 
was  finished,  she  had  realized  that  the  word  was  an 
unknown  one  in  Jane  Rumbough's  cottage,  —  prob- 
ably in  the  whole  mill  village. 

"  I  ain't  never  seen  or  heered  of  one,"  said  Lisshy, 
fretfully. 

"  Well,  never  mind.  They  are  not  half  so  important 
as  getting  well." 

The  child  smiled  again,  reassured  by  the  tender 
voice,  and  closed  her  heavy  eyes.  Maris  bent  over 
her  hungrily.  In  spite  of  years  of  poverty  and  un- 
cleanliness,  the  little  face  had  not  lost  all  of  its  deli- 
cate beauty.  The  deadened  skin  was  of  exquisite 
texture;  the  hair  soft  and  light  as  dusky  thistle- 
down. 

"  You  'pears  to  like  kids  mighty  well,"  came  in 
drowsy  tones  from  the  bed.  "  Ain't  you  got  no  little 
girl  o'  your  own?  " 

Maris  could  not  answer  on  the  instant.  She  pressed 
her  right  hand  hard  against  her  mouth,  and,  for  one 
convulsive  clutch,  held  her  quivering  throat.  Then, 
with  a  commendable  degree  of  steadiness,  she  an- 
swered: "  There  is  no  little  girl  in  my  home." 

Lisshy's  next  words  were  somewhat  startling. 
"  I  knows  where  you  lives,"  she  said. 

'  You  do?    Why  how  did  you  find  that  out?  " 

"  I  seen  you  at  the  window  that  day  we  wuz  all 
dancin'  at  yo'  gate." 

"  Yes.  I  remember  now.  You  were  the  littlest 
girl." 


THE  LAUGHING  OWL  147 

"  Yo'  face  at  that  up-stairs  window  wuz  so  funny- 
lookin',  an'  white,  we-all  thought  you  wuz  a  ghost, 
—  an'  run.  Why  wuz  you  lookin'  so  strange  an' 
scairt  that  day,  Lady?  " 

"  Oh,  it  was  the  dance,  —  that  terrible,  terrible 
dance!  You  must  never  be  in  such  an  awful  thing 
again." 

"  But  I  got  to,"  said  Lisshy,  practically.  "  I  got 
to  go  in  the  real  thing,  not  the  make-believe,  next 
time.  Jes'  ez  soon  ez  I  kin  stand  on  my  two  feet  an' 
use  this  good  han'  in  the  mill,  de  Whipper-in  will 
be  ridin'  atter  me.  Hands  is  sca'ce  at  de  mill.  They's 
lots  o'  bandaged  kids  workin'  —  " 

"  But  you  are  not  to  go!  They  sha'n't  drive  you 
back,  —  they  sha'n't,  —  no  matter  what  —  ':'  she 
broke  off,  seeing  the  child's  startled  eyes.  "  I  think 
it  wicked  for  any  child  who  is  not  well  to  be  made 
to  work,"  she  concluded  lamely,  but  with  less  vehe- 
mence. Lisshy,  with  the  tolerance  of  a  wider  experi- 
ence, made  no  further  effort  to  enforce  her  point  of 
view.  She  knew  well  enough  that  she  would  have 
to  work,  and  that  all  the  tenderness  and  pity  of  this 
marvelous,  gentle  being  now  beside  her,  would  weigh 
nothing  against  the  first  lash  of  Tate's  long  rawhide 
whip. 

Maris,  for  her  part,  whirled  into  a  sudden  dizziness 
by  the  child's  acceptance  of  so  hideous  a  lot,  strove 
in  vain  for  calm.  Her  mind,  darting  like  a  distracted 
insect  to  each  new  point  of  danger,  began  to  see  in 
Lisshy's  knowledge  of  her  home,  a  tangible  menace. 
When,  once  more,  she  could  control  her  speech,  she 
leaned  close,  to  say,  with  impressiveness :  "Lisshy, 
though  you  know  where  I  live,  I  don't  want  you  to 
tell  any  one  else  that  you  know,  until  I  give  you 
leave." 

"  Nome,  —  I    mean,  —  yas'm,"    said    Lisshy,    a 


148  RED  HORSE  HILL 

fittle  wearily.  These  restrictions  upon  her  speech 
were  a  part  of  her  ordinary  existence,  and  did  not 
even  excite  curiosity. 

"  But  you  are  perfectly  sure  that  you  do  know  the 
house,  —  and  the  way  to  get  to  it?  "  Maris  persisted. 

"  Yas'm,  —  hit's  that  big  new  one  with  four  stone 
posts  in  front.  The  minister  said  hit  was  builted  by 
the  Reginy  mill  boss  what  died." 

"  Yes,  that  is  the  house.  The  '  Brattle  house ' 
they  call  it.  If  you  should  be  in  danger,  Lisshy,  — 
if,  —  if  —  people  should  try  to  hurt  you,  or  drive 
you  back  to  the  mill,  or  take  you  away,  —  and  you 
can  make  your  way  to  that  house,  —  you  will  be 
safe.  Remember  that,  —  you  will  be  safe,  —  but 
you  must  not  tell  any  one  else  of  this." 

"  Nome,"  said  Lisshy.  She  was  indifferent  no 
longer.  Dimly  she  felt  that  this  secret,  shared  now 
with  this  wonderful,  strange  lady,  was  a  great  charge 
laid  upon  her.  Had  she  ever  heard  a  fairy  tale,  she 
would  have  likened  Maris  instantly  to  the  traditional 
fairy  godmother,  but  the  world  of  imagination  had 
been  shut  out  from  Lisshy's  ears  by  the  whirl  of 
bobbins,  the  endless  clatter  of  machinery.  So,  now, 
to  express  her  sense  of  privilege,  she  could  only 
declare:  "I  won't  tell  a  single  soul,  —  cross  my 
gizzard!  An'  ef  they  asts  me,  —  I'll  lie  fer  it.  Paw 
says  I  kin  lie  like  sixty!  " 

"  I  don't  think  you  will  need  to  lie,  dear,"  said 
Maris,  with  a  spasm  of  the  heart.  "  Just  say  noth- 
ing, and  no  questions  will  be  asked.  I  never  want 
you  to  speak  an  untruth." 

"  Honest,  I  don't  mind  a  bit,"  Lisshy  assured  her. 
"  I'd  do  anything  on  dis  earth  you  ast  me,  —  even 
killin'  myself,"  she  said  more  shyly,  and  put  out 
the  claw  of  her  uninjured  hand. 

Maris  bent  her  head  far  over  it.      The  bitterness, 


THE  LAUGHING  OWL  149 

the  humiliation,  the  hypocrisy  of  her  present  situa- 
tion went  over  her  slowly  in  a  warm,  black  wave. 
Now  her  throat  filled  with  it,  her  eyes  went  softly 
blind,  she  was  sulking  through  it,  down,  down,  to 
a  blessed  unconsciousness.  Then  the  weak  voice  of 
a  child  came  to  her,  pulling  her  upward  through  the 
darkness.  "  Lady,  would  you  mind  doin'  that  to 
my  forehead  agin  ?  " 

Under  the  gentle,  regular  strokes,  Lisshy  fell  into 
her  first  real  sleep  of  the  night.  Her  breath  came 
steadily,  and  for  the  moment  the  pain  went  from  her 
face.  Maris  rose  softly,  turned  the  lamp  lower  and 
shaded  the  flame  with  the  chart  left  by  Dr.  Page. 
She  then  opened  by  cautious  inches  the  small, 
square  window  that  faced  the  west.  The  cooling  tide 
of  night  flowed  in,  bearing  with  it  small,  distant 
woodland  sounds,  the  chirp  of  crickets,  the  hoarse 
croaking  of  frogs  in  the  valley,  and,  far,  far  off,  the 
laugh  of  a  huge  night-owl. 

She  went  back  to  the  bed,  and  began  to  draw  the 
rags  up  closer  about  Lisshy's  throat  and  chest.  The 
handkerchief  was  once  more  dipped  hi  water,  wrung, 
and  laid  across  the  sick  child's  forehead.  Maris  took 
her  seat  on  the  soap-box,  huddling  near,  her  eyes 
on  the  small  unconscious  face.  In  this  dimmer 
light  Lisshy  looked  younger,  almost  a  baby,  and  the 
beauty  of  innocent  and  happy  childhood  hovered 
in  a  pale  reflex  upon  her  mouth. 

Crouching  thus,  immovable  for  fear  of  waking 
the  invalid,  a  sort  of  reaction  came  to  Maris'  over- 
strung nerves  and  brain.  A  strange  lethargy  of 
peace  possessed  her.  She  had  never  been  more 
widely  awake,  yet  thought  stopped  with  her,  and 
she  seemed  to  herself  only  a  fibre  of  the  noiseless 
hour.  The  village  around  the  Winch's  cottage  was 
stiller  than  the  depths  of  a  primeval  forest.  Sud- 


150  RED  HORSE  HILL 

denly  the  child  screamed  out:  "  Don't  twis'  my  arm 
so,  Daddy!  Don't  twis'  it!  Fo'  God,  I'll  go  to  de 
mill  dis  minute,  —  only  leave  go  my  arm!  " 

Mans,  stung  to  life,  was  on  the  bed,  her  cheek 
against  Lisshy's  cheek,  her  hands  clasping  the  free 
right  hand  that  was  fighting  back  the  imaginary 
enemy.  "  No  one  is  here  but  me,  Lisshy.  No  one 
shall  hurt  you.  Keep  your  hand  still.  It  is  only  the 
pain  in  the  other  arm." 

The  child  cowered  against  her,  and  put  up  a  hand 
to  feel  whether  indeed  the  benign  presence  were  a 
reality.  "  I  thought  it  was  Paw,  drivin'  me  back 
a'ready,"  she  gasped. 

"  It  was  only  a  dream.    No  one  shall  hurt  you." 

"  I'm  skeered  all  the  time  that  you  are  jes'  a 
dream,"  said  Lisshy,  bursting  for  the  first  time  into 
childish,  uncontrolled  sobbing.  In  spite  of  the  pain 
it  gave,  Maris  was  thankful  to  see  that  she  could 
abandon  herself  to  weeping,  like  any  normal  child. 
"  I'm  skeered  you  are  the  dream  an'  will  go  away 
an'  leave  me,"  sobbed  Lisshy. 

"  I'm  here  now,  at  any  rate,"  said  Maris.  "  And 
I  am  going  to  stay  with  you  just  as  long  as  I  can." 

"  But  you'll  have  to  go  when  the  mill  whistles," 
said  Lisshy.  "  An'  it  mus'  be  clost  onto  that  time 
now." 

"  Don't  talk  or  think  about  my  going,  darling. 
Only  let  us  be  thankful  that  I  can  be  here  now.  Put 
your  poor  little  cheek  against  mine.  Now  I  will 
hold  this  hand  close  while  you  go  to  sleep  again." 

Obedient  always,  the  child  closed  her  eyes,  and 
after  an  interval,  Maris  was  sure  that  she  slept. 

The  words  about  the  mill  whistle  remained  in 
her  mind  to  vex  it.  In  a  night  like  this  time  loses 
its  true  proportions,  yet  surely  midnight  must  be 
past.  Maris  began  to  wonder  what  it  was  that  kept 


THE  LAUGHING  OWL  151 

Jane  Rumbough  out  so  long.  No  suspicion  of  the 
hideous  truth  had  yet  come  to  her.  What  plans 
she  had  begun,  vaguely,  to  form  were  centered  about 
Jane  Rumbough  only.  She  had  not  given  a  second 
shuddering  thought  to  the  creature  who  now  passed 
as  Jane's  husband.  Nor,  in  this  first  night,  had  she 
allowed  the  image  of  her  own  dear  husband,  of 
Dwight  Alden,  to  come  between  her  and  her  plans 
for  Lisshy's  deliverance. 

Alone  she  had  taken  the  first,  and  most  vital  step. 
She  had  reached  Lisshy,  and  knew  that  it  was  her 
child.  Because  of  the  little  one's  desperate  illness, 
and  the  many  complications,  she  intended  to  go 
no  further  until  she  should  have  consulted  Dr.  Single- 
terry.  Oh,  if  there  were  but  some  other  woman  to 
help  her,  —  a  clear,  strong  good  woman,  like  Ruth. 
If  she  could  tell  Ruth!  And  why  not?  It  must  be 
broken  in  some  way  to  Dwight,  and  who  so  fitted  as 
his  sister?  But  then  the  thought  of  Ruth's  scorn,  — 
her  loathing  even,  —  as  the  miserable  story  was 
unfolded,  came  in  a  vision  to  Maris'  eyes,  and  she 
shut  them,  saying  to  herself  that  she  would  hardly 
summon  courage  for  that  heroic  ordeal. 

She  got  softly  from  the  bed,  and  took  up  from  the 
floor  her  hat  and  the  green  veil  she  had  thrown  aside 
at  Lisshy's  tortured  cry.  She  put  these  on,  and 
walked  toward  the  door,  thinking  to  look  out  from 
the  verandah  for  any  sign  of  Jane.  She  put  her  hand 
on  the  cheap  knob,  pausing  once  more  to  listen  for 
a  sound  from  Lisshy.  The  child  was  still,  but  up 
on  the  slope  the  great  night-owl,  flown  closer,  laughed 
as  if  with  a  demon's  ecstasy  at  human  suffering. 


CHAPTER  ELEVEN 

THE  LONG  GREEN  VEIL 

ONCE  safely  beyond  hearing  distance  of  her  cot- 
tage and  its  astonishing  occupant,  Jane  Rumbough 
sped,  like  a  gaunt  brown  hare,  down  the  slope  of  the 
Red  Village,  toward  the  Regina  store.  The  wonder 
of  her  discovery  filled  her  with  an  energy  and  light- 
ness she  had  not  known  for  years.  She  did  not  try 
to  reason  out  the  present  situation  or  to  foresee 
results.  The  one  definite  thought  that  she  bore 
through  the  night  was  to  impart  the  wonder  to  her 
husband;  her  clearest  hope  that  she  should  reach 
him  before  the  cheap  liquor  had  bereft  him  of  all 
judgment.  This  was  an  occasion  to  call  for  all  his 
faculties,  the  shrewdness  of  which  and  his  crafty 
joy  in  scheming  he  used  to  boast.  How  would  he 
look  while  she  was  telling  him?  What  would  be  his 
first,  spontaneous  words? 

She  ran  on,  wondering  anew  at  her  own  activity. 
Could  this  be  the  warped  and  inelastic  body  that 
had  begun  to  seem  but  a  mere  part  of  the  angular 
mill  machine?  "  No  mo'  drawin'-in-frames  an'  back- 
aches fer  you,  Jane  Rumbough,"  she  announced  to 
the  night.  Even  her  bleared  eyes  were  regaining 
vision.  Though  nearing  the  level  of  the  valley  she 
was  still  on  enough  of  a  slope  to  see,  over  the  swing- 
ing door  of  the  barroom,  the  splendid  figure  of  Buck 
McGhee,  as  it  leaned  with  back  to  the  high  board  of 


THE  LONG  GREEN  VEIL  153 

the  bar-counter.  Around  him  sat  or  slouched  the 
usual  group  of  loafers,  men  who  gamed  and  drank 
away  the  wages  of  women  and  children.  Peering 
eagerly  she  saw  that  Which  was  seated  in  a  corner, 
and  that  McGhee  seemed  to  be  badgering  him.  Loud 
bursts  of  laughter  came  to  her.  At  these  sights  and 
sounds  impatience  pricked  her  to  new  efforts,  but 
in  the  darker  valley  speed  was  almost  impossible. 
Many  small  gullies  were  washed  hi  the  lower  roads; 
lakes  of  red  slush  had  accumulated,  and  the  coke 
and  refuse  from  the  mill,  cast  at  random,  cut  her  bare 
feet,  and  drew,  now  and  again  a  sharp  exclamation. 
More  than  once  she  stumbled,  staggered,  and  with 
difficulty  regained  her  footing.  She  longed  to  cry 
out  and  bring  Jim  Winch  there  to  her,  but  her  pru- 
dence told  her  that  she  must  ascertain  his  condition 
before  entrusting  him  with  such  stupendous  news. 
She  was  glad  that  McGhee  was  making  him  angry. 
Jim's  wits  were  always  at  their  best  in  a  rage.  She 
smiled  her  grim  smile  at  this  thought.  Yes,  Jim 
would  know  how  to  fix  things!  Unaccountable  as 
it  might  seem,  this  miserable,  overworked  wreck 
of  a  woman  still  loved  the  creature  who  had  been 
her  ruin. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  barroom  down  the  valley,  a  typ- 
ical scene  was  in  progress. 

The  entire  end  of  the  room  directly  opposite  the 
main  entrance  was  filled  by  the  "  bar  "  itself,  a  long 
stretch  of  polished  wood,  elbow  high.  Behind  it, 
on  wide  shelves  backed  by  cheap  mirrors,  the  glit- 
tering array  of  glass  decanters,  "  mixers,"  tumblers, 
goblets  and  black  bottles  was  set  forth.  Chairs  in 
various  stages  of  decrepitude  stood  in  clusters  about 
the  floor,  or  were  grouped,  by  force  of  habit,  about 
the  rusty  iron  stove  perched  high  on  its  pedestal  of 
a  wooden  box  filled  with  sand.  Though  the  day  had 


154  RED  HORSE  HILL 

been  warm,  a  low  fire  of  coals  still  burned,  and  this, 
added  to  the  fumes  of  liquor  and  tobacco  smoke, 
the  heat  of  the  lights  and  of  human  bodies,  made  the 
place  intolerable  to  one  just  entering  from  cool 
spaces  of  the  night.  Besides  the  chairs,  a  low  wooden 
bench  had  been  furnished  for  possible  excess  of  visit- 
ors. This  ran  sheer  across  the  eastern  wall,  under 
two  dingy  windows,  the  panes  of  which  were  never 
raised.  The  central  prop  of  the  bench  was  gone 
so  that  it  could  be  "  bounced,"  like  a  child's  spring- 
board, and  the  oaken  surface,  worn  to  a  high  polish, 
was  smooth  to  glassiness.  It  was  one  of  the  coarse 
jokes  of  the  place  to  test  a  man's  degree  of  intoxi- 
cation by  forcing  him  to  the  middle,  and  bouncing 
him  violently  on  each  side.  If  sufficiently  drunk 
he  would  soon  fall  forward,  an  inert  mass  upon  the 
floor;  but  if  only  partially  affected,  would  take  his 
"  medicine "  with  grins  or  oaths,  according  to  his 
nature,  and  gradually  make  his  way  along  the  bench 
to  one  of  the  corners,  where  he  would  be  safe.  Jim 
Winch,  darker  and  more  sullen  than  ever,  had  just 
experienced  this  pleasantry,  and  was  securely  wedged 
in  the  corner  next  the  tall  bar,  scowling,  wordlessly, 
at  the  laughs  and  jibes  which  pursued  him. 

On  that  evening  it  was  noticeable  that  Winch 
was  the  selected  target  for  most  of  McGhee's  jokes. 
No  mention  had  been  made  of  Lisshy.  No  one  of 
the  group  would  have  dared  outspoken  condolence 
until  an  opening  had  been  made  by  the  overseer. 
But  there  was  a  subtle  uneasiness  in  the  air,  born  of 
the  knowledge  of  the  accident  and  its  suppression. 
There  was  no  doubt  that  in  Red  Village,  McGhee 
was  the  ruling  power.  His  strong  will  dominated 
conditions  as  surely  as  his  handsome  head  rose  high 
over  the  heads  around  him.  It  was  not  merely  that 
he  had  succeeded,  that,  from  an  unlettered  mountain- 


THE  LONG  GREEN  VEIL  155 

boy  he  had  become  "  the  durndest,  best  mill  over- 
seer in  three  counties,"  the  man  possessed  in  himself 
a  vital  magnetism,  a  compelling  self-belief.  He  was 
a  superb  animal,  fashioned  to  prey  upon  his  kind. 
Without  conscience  or  remorse  where  the  gratifica- 
tion of  his  passions  was  involved,  he  had  a  sort  of 
bluff  good  nature,  a  frank,  loud  heartiness  of  address, 
that  conveyed,  wrongly,  an  impression  of  sincerity. 
Even  the  creatures  who  had  suffered  most  through 
him,  felt  their  hatred  ebb  in  his  presence,  only  to  burn 
up  hotter  when  his  back  was  turned.  Immediately 
upon  entering  a  room  he  possessed  it,  and,  so  long 
as  he  remained,  his  companions  listened,  questioned, 
assented  or  demurred,  but  never  took  the  lead. 

Now  as  he  stood  looking  down  at  the  bloated 
creature  on  the  bench,  his  fair  head  thrown  back- 
ward, his  teeth  glittering  in  a  smile,  no  one  could 
have  denied  his  physical  attraction. 

An  old  man,  with  hair  so  thin  and  grey  that  it 
seemed  like  wisps  of  withered  grass  clinging  to  his 
head,  had  been  watching  Winch  silently  with  some- 
thing of  compassion  in  his  faded  gaze.  He  now 
transferred  the  look  to  McGhee,  and  at  a  clearer  sight 
of  him  seemed  to  shrink  and  cower  in  a  mingling  of 
fear  and  hate.  No  one  took  any  notice  of  the  old 
man,  and,  at  this  juncture  the  red-headed  young  bar- 
tender, known  inevitably  as  "  Pinkey,"  leaned  for- 
ward and  asked  a  pointed  question  concerning  the 
gallant's  rumored  conquest  of  a  young  girl,  Victoria 
Oabtree,  who,  together  with  the  rest  of  her  family 
had  been  enticed  down  by  Tate  from  their  mountain 
farm  in  order  to  acquire,  within  a  few  weeks  as  repre- 
sented, both  wealth  and  social  distinction  in  the 
thriving  new  town  of  Sidon. 

Buck  turned  a  slow,  pleased  smile  toward  the 
speaker  and  asked,  in  a  voice  which  he  strove  in  vain 


156  RED  HORSE  HILL 

to  make  sedate,  "  But  did  you  hear  that  she  reciper- 
cated,  Pink?  That's  the  main  spring  hi  these  affairs 
of  the  heart.  Recipercation  is  the  law  uv  nature. 
Ain't  that  so,  boys?  "  His  bold  eyes  took  in  the 
circle.  A  chorus  of  approval  answered  him. 

"She  couldn't  hardly  hev  resisted  Buck"  said 
Tate,  the  Whipper-in,  when  he  had  re-located  his 
Adam's  apple,  and  could  speak  for  laughing. 

Buck  drew  himself  upward  by  an  inch,  and  glanced 
over  his  shoulder  at  the  mirror,  as  if  to  see  that 
his  good  looks  were  still  there. 

"  They  sez  old  Granny  Crabtree's  dyin',  —  dyin'  o' 
mountain-grief,"  the  old  man  with  thin  hair  piped 
up  suddenly. 

Buck  and  his  immediate  satellites  pretended  not  to 
hear  this  infelicitous  remark. 

"  You're  gittin'  all-fired  clost  with  de  Yankee 
school  marm,  Buck,"  hurriedly  interpolated  a  friend 
at  his  elbow. 

"  A  darned  good-looker,  too,  ef  she  is  a  Yank," 
vouchsafed  a  second  boon  companion. 

"  Nothin'  doin',  boys,  nothin'  at  all,"  said  Buck, 
in  a  tone  of  mystery.  "  Her  an'  me  have  had  a  few 
little  confabs  over  the  mill,  an'  such  questions. 
She's  a  practical  reformer,  she  sez,  an'  bein'  sech, 
I  consider  it  my  duty  to  assist  her  in  her  good  works. 
But  that's  all  there  is  to  it,  —  straight!  "  He  spoke 
in  a  tone  of  great  caution,  intended  to  convey  the 
existence  of  deeper  things  unsaid.  The  extreme 
gravity  of  his  face  threw  his  listeners  into  their  usual 
demonstrations  of  joy.  Buck  continued  to  look  seri- 
ous, even  a  little  pained.  His  great  blue  eyes,  wide 
and  innocent  as  any  baby's,  turned  plaintively  from 
one  suffused  face  to  another. 

"  You  gen'l'men  don't  seem  to  understand  the  art 
of  baitin'  hooks/'  he  went  on,  when  partial  order  was 


THE  LONG  GREEN  VEIL  157 

restored.  "  Bellowin'  boldness  fer  one  sort  o'  gal, 
Bible  texts  an'  the  repentant  sinner  fer  the  next. 
When  you  strike  a  rare  breed  o'  fish,  like  the  school- 
ma'am,  why,  nothin'  but  ignorance  an'  a  noble  desire 
to  improve  yo'  mind  will  coax  her." 

"Ain't  he  a  devil!  Buck,  you  sho'  kin  beat  the 
Dutch!  Drinks  all  'round  fer  Buck  an'  the  Yankee 
school-ma'am ! "  were  a  few  of  the  commendatory 
remarks  that  now  echoed  through  the  room. 

Pinkey  leaned  delicately  forth  again  on  his  soiled 
lavender  shirt-sleeves,  put  his  pale  lips  close  to  the 
left  ear  of  Buck  McGhee,  and  lisped  a  foul  compli- 
ment which  would  have  made  a  decent  man  strike 
him  to  the  earth.  But  Buck's  vanity  knew  no  dis- 
criminations. He  turned  his  smiling  face  to  Pinkey, 
and  rejoined,  so  that  the  others  could  hear:  "  Them 
stunts  ain't  to  be  taught,  Pinkey.  They  comes  natural 
or  not  at  all." 

The  only  men  present  who  withheld  tribute  were 
Winch,  still  lowering  in  his  corner,  and  the  gray  old 
man,  who  had  now  taken  seat  next  to  him.  The 
latter  spoke. 

"  If  you're  plannin'  any  uv  your  gallant  tricks 
with  the  Yankee  lady,  Buck  McGhee,  I'd  advise 
you  to  go  slow.  Her  brother  looks  like  the  real 
article  to  me.  He  may  put  a  load  uv  Yankee  buck- 
shot into  that  shape  o'  yourn  that  you're  so  stuck 
on." 

McGhee  gave  a  contemptuous  gesture.  "  Hog- 
wash!  Yanks  don't  fight  that  er  way.  They  go  to 
law  an'  git  damages." 

"  Seems  to  me,  Buck,"  drawled  Tate,  "  that  yo' 
chance  has  come  at  last  to  settle  down,  an'  be  a 
respectable  famb'ly  man.  She's  got  a  ekal  share  in 
the  Reginy  with  her  brother,  an'  you're  the  bes' 
mill  boss  in  the  South.  What  you  say?  Is  it  settled? 


158  RED  HORSE  HILL 

Drinks  to  the  future  Mr.  and  Mrs. ! "  He  lifted  a 
tentative  (and  empty)  glass. 

"  No  weddin'  bells  fer  me!  "  laughed  Buck.  "  The 
bachelor-bee  is  the  best  o'  the  hive.  Besides,  she 
mightn't  be  the  kind  to  appreciate  my  attention 
to  the  new  mill-hands  that  comes  in  from  the 
hills." 

Tate  lowered  his  glass  thoughtfully.  "  That's 
so.  Maybe  you're  right.  I  can't  think  of  no  matri- 
monial harness  jes'  yo'  size." 

"  My  heart's  too  big  fer  any  one  woman,  an'  that's 
a  fact,"  said  Buck.  "  It  would  be  like  runnin'  Put- 
nam's Hotel  for  one  measly  soap-drummer.  An' 
it  ain't  no-ways  fair  to  the  ladies."  He  gave  a  wide 
gesture  and  a  deep,  mocking  bow,  as  if  to  an  invisible 
aggregate  of  the  sex  he  traduced.  The  taint  of  li- 
centious thought  filled  the  air. 

Tate,  for  a  wonder,  seemed  to  be  thinking.  "  The 
school-ma'am  is  a  good-looker  in  a  chiny-doll  sort  o' 
way,"  he  said  at  length.  "  But  Lord,  she  ain't 
within  hailin'  distance  o'  Alden's  wife.  Gee,  but 
them  eyes!  Like  a  bunch  o'  lightnin'-bugs  in  the 
dark.  Did  you  see  'em,  Buck,  when  she  stood  up 
in  the  buggy  an'  hollered  at  me  not  to  hit  Lisshy 
Winch  agin?  " 

"  No,"  said  Buck,  grumpily.  The  image  of  Mrs. 
Alden  was  not  a  pleasing  one.  Her  instinctive  aver- 
sion to  himself  had  been  all  too  plainly  shown.  This 
had  stung,  even  while  it  puzzled  him.  "  Didn't  see 
anything  to  her  but  a  long  green  veil." 

"  I  seen  the  veil,  too,"  laughed  Tate,  "  Big  as  a 
horse-blanket,  only  too  thin  fer  use.  When  the  buggy 
drove  off  hit  stood  out  straight  like  a  flag."  He 
turned  now,  speaking  directly  to  Winch.  "  You  seen 
it  too,  Winch.  She  an'  the  boss  drove  right  past 
yo'  do'." 


THE  LONG  GREEN  VEIL  159 

Winch  muttered  an  indistinguishable  succession 
of  grunts,  and  made  as  if  to  rise.  His  sodden  face 
showed  disgust  with  his  surroundings;  his  small, 
furtive  eyes  had  gone  more  than  once  to  the  face 
of  McGhee,  and  turned  away.  Something,  now, 
in  their  expression,  rasped  the  self-assurance  of  the 
bully. 

"Hold  on!"  he  called  out  insolently.  "Hold 
on  long  enough  to  look  pleasant.  I've  stood  too 
much  grouch  from  you,  already,  —  settin'  there  like 
a  devil's  snuff-box  ready  to  pop,  while  gentlemen  are 
takin'  their  enjoyment." 

Winch  gave  a  stifled  oath,  and  made  another  effort 
to  rise.  Buck  stepped  a  few  feet  nearer.  His  syco- 
phants fell  back,  leaving  clear  passage. 

"  You  an'  old  Bones,"  McGhee  went  on,  half 
laughing,  half  angry,  "  like  picters  uv  before  an* 
after  takin',  on  the  mourners'  bench.  Wake  up, 
Bones.  What's  the  las'  news  from  Luveenia?  " 

At  this  unspeakable  insult,  —  for  Luveenia  was 
the  man's  daughter,  and  her  disgrace  and  abandon- 
ment at  McGhee's  hands  were  an  open  secret,  —  the 
old  creature,  lashed  into  momentary  vigor,  sprang  up, 
and  cried  out  shrilly:  "  Don't  you  darst  speak  her 
name  to  me,  you  devil,  or  I'll  put  a  load  uv  buck- 
shot Into  you,  myself." 

"  Oh,  no  you  won't,"  sneered  McGhee,  whose 
anger  was  already  beginning  to  cool,  since  it  had 
aroused  an  answering  spark.  "  You'll  jes'  set  around 
an'  snivel  erbout  it.  Ef  you'd  bin  half  a  man,  you 
would  have  done  it  at  the  fust;  but  no,  you  took  the 
good  cottage,  —  and  the  double  wages  what  you 
knew  you  wasn't  worth.  You'll  do  nothin',  same 
as  other  papas  do!  " 

"  Lemme  git  outer  here,  —  lemme  git  out,  — 
fo'  I  try  it  now,"  whispered  the  old  man.  His  face 


160  RED  HORSE  HILL 

had  grown  a  chalky  yellow.  One  could  see  that  his 
courage  was  oozing  fast. 

"  An'  take  that  rotten  beer  barrel  along,"  cried 
out  McGhee  to  him.  "  This  ain't  no  fertilizing 
factory." 

"  Come,  Winch,"  said  the  old  man,  trying 
to  help  him  up.  "  We'd  better  go.  We  can't  do 
nothin'  against  McGhee.  He  owns  us  all." 

Winch's  face  was  growing  a  deeper  purple.  A 
single  bloodshot  vein  stood  out  like  an  azure  cord 
down  the  centre  of  his  forehead.  He  tried  to  rise, 
but  fury,  added  to  his  partial  intoxication,  and  his 
always  precarious  strength,  hurled  him  back.  Mc- 
Ghee laughed  loudly,  and  the  others  joined,  but  with 
less  heartiness. 

"  Out  with  you,  —  old  bag  o'  wind  an'  blubber," 
he  jeered.  "  Do  you  need  a  wheelbarrow  to  cart 
you  home?  " 

"  Curse  you,  —  curse  you,"  said  the  tormented  man 
between  his  teeth.  At  last  he  had  risen,  though  still 
a  bloated  hand  was  against  the  wall  for  support. 
"  You  low-born,  common  bully,  —  if  ever  I  get  my 
strength  back,  you'll  hear  from  this." 

"  I  ain't  skeered,"  said  Buck.  "  Now  hustle  out, 
—  your  company  ain't  required  here  any  longer. 
And,  fer  a  piece  uv  advice  —  "  here  a  dark  look  made 
his  face  brutal  for  the  moment  —  "I'd  thank  you 
to  keep  your  kids  outer  my  machinery." 

Fury,  though  it  weakened  Winch's  diseased  body, 
had  begun  to  produce  an  opposite  effect  on  his  mind. 
He  faced  McGhee  now,  almost  coolly.  "  And  a  piece 
of  advice  from  me  to  you  is:  Keep  your  bands  of 
machinery  covered  as  the  law  demands,  —  and  you 
won't  have  so  many  accidents.  I've  more  than  half 
a  mind  to  report  you  to  the  legislature." 

This  was  going  far  indeed.    Every  man  in  the  room 


THE  LONG  GREEN  VEIL  161 

knew  well  that  Lisshy  had  been  injured  through 
negligence,  but  they  would  no  more  have  thought 
of  saying  it  before  McGhee  than  of  shaking  their 
fist  at  heaven  when  the  lightning  had  just  struck. 
All  faces  were  sober  now,  and  a  few  showed  fright. 
McGhee  alone  remained,  externally,  unmoved. 

"  I  suggest  that  you  try  it,"  he  said,  quite  gently. 
"  You  don't  suppose  I've  had  a  slug  like  you  about 
me  fer  a  whole  year  without  informin'  myself  pretty 
accurate  about  his  past  history.  I  think  I  could  give 
a  little  information  on  my  own  hook."  This  was 
purely  a  random  shot,  born  of  McGhee's  keen  in- 
sight into  the  cruder  phases  of  human  nature.  He 
turned  away  with  a  contemptuous  laugh,  as  he  saw 
how  the  bolt  had  struck.  "  You  kin  consider  your- 
self turned  out  'er  Red  Village,"  McGhee  continued. 
"  I  don't  want  your  kind  about  me.  You'll  vacate 
that  cottage,  too,  and  the  sooner  the  better!  " 

A  little  gasp  went  up  from  his  auditors.  They, 
like  Winch,  were  thinking  of  Lisshy  and  her  desperate 
condition.  The  sound  angered  McGhee.  "  Well, 
what's  the  sighin'  an'  the  puffin'?"  he  demanded 
fiercely,  wheeling  upon  them.  "  Am  I  overseer  of 
this  place,  or  ain't  I?  " 

"  I'll  get  out,  you  beast,  —  I'll  get,  though  the 
kid  dies  for  it.  It'll  give  me  a  new  claim  against  you. 
I'll  go,  —  I'll  go  —  "  He  muttered  these  words  as 
he  stumbled  and  shambled  toward  the  door. 

"  Well  go,  an'  the  devil  go  with  you!  "  roared  Mc- 
Ghee, as  he  turned  his  back,  and  pounded  the  counter 
for  fresh  drinks. 

But  another  excitement  was  in  store.  Just  as  the 
hand  of  Winch  was  lifted  to  push  back  the  swinging 
blind,  it  was  thrust  inward  with  such  violence  that 
both  he  and  his  companion  barely  escaped  being 
thrown  to  the  floor.  It  was  Jane,  her  eyes,  usually 


162  RED  HORSE  HILL 

so  colorless,  now  dark  and  shining,  her  thin  face 
twitching  with  unwonted  animation.  "  Ah,  there 
you  are,  Jim.  Come  quick,  —  don't  stop  to  ask." 

"  Is  Lisshy  —  gone?  "  the  man  whispered.  "  Old 
Bones  "  waited  for  the  answer,  "  No,"  then  van- 
ished somewhere  into  the  night.  Jane  and  her 
husband  went  out  arm  in  arm,  and  the  deserted 
loungers,  after  the  first  stare  of  wonder,  turned  to  each 
other  glances  in  which  pity  gleamed.  "  The  poor 
little  devil's  dead,"  their  eyes  said. 

Even  McGhee  drew  a  sigh,  as  he  walked  slowly 
back  to  the  counter.  "  Poor  little  critter! "  he  said, 
voicing  the  thoughts  of  all.  "  Well,  she's  lucky  to 
git  out  uv  it  so  early.  They  blames  us  overseers  for 
cruelty,  and  yet  it  is  the  kids'  own  parents  that  tells 
Tate  to  drive  'em  back  when  they  can't  hardly  keep 
their  feet  fer  sickness.  It's  a  bad  business  all  round, 
—  this  kid-drivin',  but  all  the  mills  do  it,  and  the 
Reginy  don't  take  nobody's  dust  in  the  road.  Here, 
fellows,  drink  on  me,  —  drink  deep,  and  let's  try 
to  start  up  a  little  fun!  " 

But  somehow  even  the  generous  drinks  did  not 
bring  about  the  desired  condition  of  hilarity.  One 
after  another  the  men  made  excuse  to  slip  away  to 
the  wretched  kennels  they  knew  as  "  home."  At 
length  even  the  valiant  McGhee  gave  up.  The  lights 
were  extinguished,  the  doors  shut  and  bolted,  and 
"  Pinkey,"  with  sighs  of  exhaustion,  climbed  up  to  his 
attic  chamber  over  the  store,  and  was  soon  asleep, 
dreaming  of  feminine  conquests  such  as  made  Buck 
McGhee  at  once  his  idol  and  his  despair. 

"  You're  sure  it  isn't  Lisshy?  You  are  not  foolin' 
me?  Speak  out,  you  idiot! "  cried  Winch  again, 
clutching  at  his  wife's  thin  arm. 

"No,  —  no.    It  ain't  erbout  Lisshy 's  sickness  at 


THE  LONG  GREEN  VEIL  163 

all.  She's  doin'  well.  I  ain't  foolin'.  Wait,  — jes' 
a  minute  mo',  twell  I  get  my  breath  back." 

They  stood  still  in  the  road,  and  Winch  waited 
with  a  man's  impatience,  shuffling  about  in  the  red 
clay,  and  uttering  exasperated  sounds. 

"  You'd  never  guess,  —  not  in  a  month  uv  Sun- 
days," Jane  panted  out  at  length.  "  It's  a  woman 
up  at  our  house  —  " 

"  That  damned,  meddling  Yankee,"  interrupted 
the  man.  "  Didn't  I  order  you  to  keep  her  outer 
my  place?  Stop  clawin'  and  draggin'  me  up  the  hill !  " 

"It  ain't  no  Yankee.  It's  —  it's  —  my  Gawd! 
how  kin  I  speak  it?  " 

"You  must  speak  it,  —  you  must!"  he  cried 
wildly,  though  already  he  had  begun  to  know.  His 
teeth  chattered  with  excitement.  Unconsciously 
he  leaned  against  the  woman.  "  Is  it  —  her?  " 

"  Yes,  an'  she's  there  with  Lisshy  now." 

"  You  left  'em  there?  " 

"  Wait;  don't  blame  me  till  you  hear." 

"  Maris  and  her  child  together,"  repeated  the  man 
in  a  sort  of  moan.  They  stood  together  swaying  and 
shivering  like  two  lost  creatures  at  the  brink  of  a  dark 
pool. 

"  But  don't  you  git  scairt,  Jim,"  the  woman  said 
at  length,  almost  tenderly.  "  It  don't  mean  no  further 
trouble;  jes'  the  contrary.  She  hid  her  face  from  me, 
though  I  know  she  knowd  me.  She  ain't  claimin' 
Lisshy  right  out.  I  bleeve  she's  married  agin,  thinkin' 
you  was  dead,  —  married  rich,  too." 

"  What  makes  you  think  she's  married  again?  " 

"  By  her  skeered  ways,  an'  the  new  gold  band 
upon  her  weddin'  finger." 

"  My  ring's  thrown  in  the  trash  pile,  of  course," 
said  the  man  with  an  ugly  laugh. 

Jane  peered  up  into  his  face  sharply.     "  Well, 


164  RED  HORSE  HILL 

what's  that  to  you,  one  way  or  the  other?  You  quit 
her."  A  thin  note  of  jealousy  rang  through  her  voice. 

"  I  reckon  the  quittin'  was  about  equal,"  said 
the  other.  "  She  had  told  me  never  to  darken  her 
sight  again." 

"Proud,  stuck-up  fool!"  said  Jane  viciously. 
"  She'll  be  gittin'  what's  comin'  to  her  now,  I  guess." 

To  this  James  Martin  made  no  reply.  He  seemed 
to  be  revolving  some  inner  thought.  Impressions 
did  not  register  swiftly  on  his  clogged  brain.  Drink, 
dissipation  and  disease  had  claimed  an  early  reckon- 
ing. He  now  plodded  on  in  silence,  his  head  hung 
low,  while  he  struggled  with  the  befogging  wonder  of 
the  facts. 

"Married, — the  spitfire!  Of  course  she  would. 
That's  what  I  got  buried  fer,  choosin'  even  a  pauper 
cemetery  where  another  James  Martin  was  already 
planted.  Just  what  I  thought  would  happen.  She 
could  be  sweet  enough  with  a  chap  that  didn't  — 
revolt  her."  He  winced,  after  all  these  years,  at 
the  remembered  scorn  of  the  words  Maris  once  had 
used.  A  brutal,  revengeful  look  came  into  his  swollen 
face.  "  Well,  Jane,"  he  said,  turning  toward  his 
silent  companion,  "  she  had  it  in  fer  us  when  we 
skipped  out,  —  exposure,  disgrace,  full  custody  of 
Lisshy,  —  all  that  was  plain  sailin'  in  her  eyes,  until 
we  spoiled  her  little  game.  Guess  we're  all  right 
now,  whatever  happens." 

But  Jane,  too,  was  thinking.  "  Don't  get  too  gay 
about  it  all  at  once,"  she  warned.  "  We  don't  know 
her  new  name  yet,  or  where  she  lives,  or  whether 
she  is  surely  married.  She  may  jes'  have  throwed 
your  ring  away  because  she  hated  it,  and  bought 
herself  this  one." 

"  That's  so,"  the  man  admitted.  "  It  isn't  likely, 
but  it's  possible." 


THE  LONG  GREEN  VEIL  165 

"  An'  we  got  to  get  into  the  house  easy,"  Jane 
continued,  "  so's  not  to  skeer  her  off." 

Now  Martin  laughed.  "  Skeer  her  off !  "  he  mocked. 
"  I  know  her  kind  too  well.  You  couldn't  prize  her 
away  from  Lisshy  with  a  crowbar." 

He  started  his  slow  plodding  again.  His  breath 
was  coming  hoarsely  with  the  climb.  "  The  worst 
part  of  it  is  that  we  don't  know  her  name  or  where 
she  lives.  Why  didn't  you  ask  her,  Jane?  " 

"  An'  have  you  got  the  fust  idee  she'd  tell  me  ef 
she  didn't  want  me  to  know?  "  sneered  Jane. 

"  Then  one  of  us  has  got  to  follow  her  when  she 
leaves  the  house." 

Jane  shook  her  head.  "  No  good.  She'd  see  us. 
That  piece  of  moon  has  come  up  sence  I  left."  She 
pointed  to  where  a  low,  misshapen  moon,  now  in  its 
last  quarter,  crept  along  the  sky. 

The  man's  footsteps  dragged.  "  By  the  Lord 
Harry,  we've  got  to  spot  her  somehow.  I  tell  you, 
it's  got  to  be.  Ain't  there  something  by  which  you 
can  trace  her,  —  her  clothes,  —  or  something?  " 

"  I  tell  you  she  was  fixed  up  plain,  so's  to  look 
poor.  An  old  brown  skirt,  an'  little  straw  hat  covered 
over  with  a  big  veil  —  " 

The  man  interrupted  by  a  gasp,  and  a  clutch  at 
the  speaker's  arm.  "  A  veil,  —  was  it  big?  What 
was  the  color?  " 

"  Laws  a  Mussy,  —  what  do  you  know  about  veils, 

—  Jim?    Yes,  it  was  big,  —  big  as  a  blanket,  and  it 
was  green,  too." 

She  was  now  thoroughly  startled  by  the  loud  cry 
of  triumph,  and  the  way  the  man  stopped,  beating 
his  hands  together,  and  laughing  out,  hysterically: 
"  A  long  green  veil,  —  I  got  her!  Oh,  Lord,  oh,  Lord, 

—  if  that  ain't  rich!" 

"  Well,  don't  wake  up  the  town  if  it  is,"  said  Jane, 


166  RED  HORSE  HILL 

in  a  fierce  whisper.  "  Do  you  want  the  whole  popu- 
lation sheerin'  yo'  joke?  " 

"  You  bet  I  don't,"  said  Martin.  And  then  he 
told  her. 

Conviction  came  instantly  to  both.  Jane,  too, 
remembered  having  seen  the  long  veil  in  the  red 
automobile  that  was  known  to  be  the  property  of 
Mr.  Alden.  It  seemed  to  them  both  an  exquisite 
bit  of  irony,  almost  an  extenuation  of  then-  own 
misdeeds,  that  Lisshy  should  have  nearly  met  her 
death  in  the  Alden  mill.  They  hurried  forward, 
chuckling  at  intervals,  and  exchanging  phrases  of 
triumph. 

They  were  within  a  few  yards  of  the  cottage;  the 
light  from  Lisshy's  window  could  have  touched  them, 
when  Martin  put  a  hand  out  to  check  his  wife. 
"  What  you  ever  done  with  them  Kansas  City  dy- 
vo'ce  papers,  Jane?  "  he  asked,  with  a  hint  of  concilia- 
tion in  his  voice. 

She  drew  back  quickly.  "  They're  safe  an'  sound," 
she  answered  drily.  "  An'  you  don't  get  your  hooks 
on  'em  fer  any  amount  o'  sweet  talk,  neither." 

The  man's  face  darkened.  It  was  noticeable  that 
always,  in  speaking  to  the  low-born  woman  who  had 
become  his  life's  companion,  his  words,  even  his 
voice,  assumed  a  similitude  of  her  own.  With  people 
of  education  he  could  still  comport  himself  like  the 
gentleman  he  once  pretended  to  be. 

"  You  fool,"  he  whispered  angrily  to  her  last  re- 
mark. "  Who  said  I  wanted  to  get  my  hooks  on  them? 
But  the  truth  is,  —  "  here  the  coaxing  tone  crept 
in,  "  that  we  got  to  be  mighty  keerful  and  not 
give  a  hint  that  any  such  dy-vo'ce  was  got.  We 
couldn't  skeer  her  worth  a  cent,  ef  she  knew  about 
them." 

11 1  don't  see  why  not,"   said  Jane  stubbornly. 


THE  LONG  GREEN  VEIL  167 

"  She  ain't  goin'  to  fight  the  dy-vo'ce  at  this  late  day, 
'specially  when  she's  married  again.  An*  they  make 
an  honest  woman  outer  me." 

"  Of  course  you  don't  see  why  not,"  said  Martin. 
"  Wimmin  don't  never  understand  these  legal  points. 
But  I  felt  at  the  time,  an'  I  feel  now,  that  it  was  a 
big  mistake  to  get  that  dy-vo'ce  from  her,  even 
though  she  knew  nothin'  about  it." 

"  My  kid  was  comin'.  I  wanted  it  to  be  as  — 
straight  —  as  her  child  was,  —  "  said  Jane  in  a  hard, 
dry  voice. 

"  Yes,  we  spent  sixteen  dollars  for  the  papers,  an' 
then  your  kid  died,"  remarked  the  man. 

Jane  did  not  attempt  a  retort.  Her  thin  face 
twitched  for  an  instant,  then  fell  back  into  its  old 
impassivity.  When  the  steps  were  reached,  she  said 
to  him,  in  a  very  low  voice,  "  You  stop  here  in  the 
shadow  fer  a  minute,  while  I  go  in." 

The  man  was  glad  enough  to  pause.  Excitement, 
and  the  hill-climb  together  were  bringing  on  symp- 
toms of  the  dizziness  which  had  troubled  him  for 
two  years,  and  sent  the  pain  in  his  back  to  a  wild 
throbbing.  "  My  God,  —  ef  I  can  only  get  my 
strength  ergin,  and  stop  these  infernal  aches,"  he 
groaned,  under  his  breath. 

Jane  was  mounting  the  steps  without  a  sound. 

Maris  was  already  at  the  door,  her  finger  pressed 
against  her  lips.  "  Hush,"  she  said  softly.  "  The 
little  girl  is  sleeping.  I  can  go  now." 

Jane  waited  until  Maris  had  stepped  out  into  the 
wan  moonlight.  She  then  straightened  her  lank 
figure,  and  put  her  arms  akimbo.  "  Skeered  you'll 
git  sunburnt  that  you  keep  your  veil  down  so  clost?  " 
she  asked. 

The  new  note  of  insolence  was  unmistakable,  and 
could  have  but  one  meaning.  Strangely  enough, 


168  RED  HORSE  HILL 

Maris  did  not  even  shrink.  She  glided  instantly 
into  one  of  those  strange  vacuums  of  experience  where 
all  that  happens  seems  preordained,  a  mere  repetition 
of  the  same  moment  acted  centuries  before.  She 
knew  the  expression  of  Jane's  eyes  without  seeing 
them;  she  knew  at  just  what  angle  her  own  arms 
lifted,  and  how  her  face  looked  as  she  raised  the  veil 
and  met,  calmly,  the  face  of  Jane  Rumbough.  Her 
own  voice  was  an  echo  of  a  long  vanished  voice  that 
said:  "  So  you  have  recognized  me,  Jane?  " 

The  speaker's  voice  held,  unconsciously,  the  ring 
of  the  old  authority.  Class  distinctions  are  not 
fragile  in  the  South  and,  for  an  instant,  in  spite  of  her 
vicious  hatred,  her  certain  triumph,  the  servant  hi 
Jane  Rumbough  quailed.  Then  her  glance  fell  on 
Winch,  crouching  at  the  other  side  of  the  step,  and 
her  courage  revived. 

"  Looks  like  it,  don't  it?  "  she  answered  with  a 
swagger.  "  An'  it  warn't  fer  any  help  I  got  from  you. 
Well?  " 

"  Felicia  is  sleeping  now,"  said  Maris,  in  the  same 
low  voice.  "  She  must  not  be  disturbed.  I  shall 
come  again  to-morrow,  and  you  can  say  what  you 
will."  She  made  a  motion  toward  the  steps,  but 
Jane  sprang  in  front  of  her. 

"  I  don't  know  as  you  have  got  any  call  to  come 
ag'in.  There  ain't  nothin'  fer  me  to  say.  This  house, 
sech  as  it  is,  is  my  house,"  she  went  on,  with  growing 
insolence;  "  the  kid  you  are  callin'  Felicia  is  my  kid. 
Her  name  is  Lisshy  Winch,  an'  I  am  Mrs.  Winch." 

"  It  is  nothing  to  me,  Jane,  what  you  choose  now 
to  call  yourself,  or  her.  We  will  adjust  it  all  to- 
morrow. Now,  kindly  let  me  pass." 

Jane  was  all  poised  for  an  outbreak  of  vituperation, 
when  a  commanding  gesture  from  the  man,  unseen 
by  Maris,  arrested  her.  Sullenly  she  drew  back  and 


THE  LONG  GREEN  VEIL  169 

her  visitor,  with  more  relief  than  she  cared  to  show, 
began  to  descend  the  steps.  Just  as  she  reached  the 
lowest  a  huge  shadow  loomed  before  her,  —  the 
figure  of  a  man,  Jane's  present  husband.  He  would 
of  course  be  angry  that  a  stranger  had  gamed  ad- 
mittance to  his  home.  Jane  had  already  warned  her. 
Because  of  this  knowledge,  and  the  fear  that  had 
begun  to  flutter  hi  her  throat,  Maris  said  courteously: 
"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Winch.  I  came  to  inquire  about 
the  little  sick  girl." 

He  did  not  move  or  answer,  and  after  a  little  pausj 
she  gave  a  gesture  of  some  haughtiness,  indicating 
that  he  must  step  aside.  Instead  of  doing  this,  he 
folded  his  arms  and  laughed.  The  sinister  sound 
was  echoed  from  the  gallery  where  Jane  stood,  watch- 
ing. 

"  I  must  insist  that  you  let  me  pass,"  cried  Maris, 
on  a  sharper  note.  "  What  do  you  mean  by  standing 
there?  " 

"  I  only  want  to  get  a  right  good  look  at  you, 
Missis  Dwight  Alden,"  said  the  man.  He  drawled 
the  last  three  words  with  a  malicious  satisfaction. 
"  Missis  Dwight  Alden,"  he  repeated,  and  smacked 
his  thick  lips  over  it. 

With  the  first  sound  of  his  voice,  Maris  had  known. 

It  is  a  superstition  in  some  parts  of  the  South  that 
one  who  speaks  with  a  ghost  goes  mad.  Maris  be- 
lieved, for  an  instant,  that  this  fate  had  come  to  her; 
and  in  the  reaction  to  reality,  wished  that  it  had  been 
so. 

"  James  Martin,"  her  white  lips  whispered,  and 
shook  at  the  long  buried  name. 

"  James  Martin,  or  Jim  Which,  —  just  as  you 
please,"  he  answered  airily.  "  We've  both  took 
on  new  labels  since  our  last  meeting."  Again  the 
malevolent  chuckle,  and  its  echo  on  the  gallery. 


170  RED  HORSE  HILL 

"  And  you  did  not  die  then,  in  the  West.  You 
were  never  dead?  "  she  cried  hi  a  sort  of  muffled 
agony.  It  was  a  foolish  thing  to  say,  but  one  just 
thrown  upon  a  heated  rack  does  not  remember  to  be 
logical. 

"You  bet  I  didn't!  I'm  all  here,  on  top,"  he 
answered  coarsely.  "  There  was  a  little  shake-up 
on  a  Kansas  train.  Jane  lost  two  teeth  in  it,  — 
which  didn't  improve  her  beauty;  "  here  Jane  threw 
in  an  oath.  "  But  we  pulled  through  all  right,  — 
and  here  we  are." 

Maris  pressed  her  cold  fingers  hard  upon  her  lids. 
The  stars,  the  moon  and  the  purple  sky  were  reeling. 
Far  overhead  the  crest  of  Red  Horse  Hill  seemed 
breaking  in  a  black  foam  to  engulf  her. 

"  I  had  the  papers,  —  they  swore  that  you  were 
dead,"  she  moaned  as  if  to  herself. 

"  Well,  an'  there  was  another  Martin,  —  Jim 
Martin,  too,  —  it  ain't  a  patent  name,  —  planted 
in  the  Kansas  buryin'  ground.  I  took  good  care  that 
your  fool  lawyer  should  get  wind  uv  it!  He  could 
have  told  you  that  much  two  years  earlier,  —  only 
he  kept  on  stringin'  you." 

Maris  whirled  toward  him  in  a  sort  of  desperation. 
Her  lips  were  parted  to  voice  her  scorn  when  a  sharp 
cry  from  the  sick-room  came:  "  Don't  twis'  my  arm 
so,  Daddy.  Don't  twis'  my  arm.  I'll  go  to  de  mill. 
Fo'  God,  I'll  go!" 

Maris'  eyes  blazed  upon  the  man  before  her.  Now 
his  own  wavered;  he  turned  aside,  muttering  a  curse 
against  the  child.  It  brought  to  the  mother  her 
last  pang  of  endurance.  She  clenched  her  hands,  and 
shut  her  eyes  tightly,  afraid  of  the  savage  terror 
that  caught  her  up  as  in  a  flame.  Martin  was  shuffling 
his  heavy  feet,  and  she  knew  that  he  attempted  self- 
control.  Jane  leaned  far  over  to  give  a  sharp  com- 


THE  LONG  GREEN  VEIL  171 

mand.  Now  he  had  dared  to  put  his  hand  on  Maris' 
sleeve. 

"  Don't  touch  me,"  she  said  to  him,  her  voice  so 
low,  so  full  of  hate,  that  he  was  startled.  "  Don't 
touch  or  speak  to  me  again,  just  now,  or  I  shall  try 
to  kiU  you! " 

He  fell  back,  and  the  woman  on  the  gallery  gasped. 
Before  another  sound  could  reach  her,  Maris  had 
turned,  and  was  fleeing  up  the  slope  of  Red  Horse 
Hill. 


CHAPTER  TWELVE 

A  TRAFFICKER   IN   SOULS 

THEY  stood  together,  man  and  wife,  for  such, 
according  to  the  queer  laws  of  our  country,  they 
undoubtedly  were,  and,  in  silence,  watched  the  flying 
figure.  Only  when  it  had  vanished  upward  into  the 
fringe  of  the  wood,  did  Jane  speak. 

"  You  still  feel  sure  she'll  stand  by  Lisshy,  —  that 
she  won't  give  us  the  slip?  " 

"  Sure." 

"  Well,  she's  gone.  What  you  starin'  after? " 
The  jealous  note  rang  again  in  her  voice. 

Martin  shrugged,  and  began  the  ascent  of  the 
stairs.  "  It  will  be  a  tussle  with  her,  I  reckon,"  he 
muttered,  more  to  himself  than  Jane.  "  It's  her 
child  fast  enough,  an'  she  knows  it.  On  th'  yother 
hand  —  "he  paused,  one  misshapen  foot  on  a  higher 
step,  "  she's  stuck  on  her  new  Yankee  husband,  curse 
him!  I  saw  it  by  the  way  she  huddled  up  against 
him  in  the  buggy,  that  day." 

"You  fool!  air  you  after  carin'  whether  or  not 
she's  stuck  on  her  new  husband?  "  demanded  Jane. 

The  man  grinned.  "  Of  course  I  care.  I  want  her 
to  be  stuck  on  him.  The  more  she  is  stuck,  the  more 
she'll  pay  to  keep  next  to  him." 

"  Oh,"  said  Jane  slowly,  "  is  that  your  idee?  "  Her 
voice  showed  relief,  but  there  was  still  a  reservation 
of  mistrust.  Being  a  woman,  she  had  a  clearer  in- 


A  TRAFFICKER  IN  SOULS  173 

tuition  as  to  Maris'  probable  course  of  action;  but 
this  was  not  the  time  to  impart  her  fears. 

The  man  was  dimly  conscious  of  thoughts  with- 
held. "  Well,"  he  asked  sharply,  "  don't  you  think 
we  can  make  her  pay?  " 

"  You  bet  we  kin,"  said  Jane  through  set  teeth, 
but  she  was  thinking  of  a  different  thumb-screw. 

"Looks  like  easy-street  fer  us  at  last,  ole  girl," 
said  the  man,  laying  a  heavy  hand  on  her  shoulder 
and,  for  an  instant,  drawing  her  close.  The  poor 
creature  thrilled  to  his  caress.  "  Let's  go  in  an'  sleep 
on  it,"  he  added,  as  the  level  of  the  porch  was  reached. 

He  shuffled  into  the  room  adjoining  that  of  Lisshy, 
but  Jane,  continuing  her  swift  steps,  went  to  the 
sick  child's  bed.  She  lay  in  a  blessed  sleep.  The 
shaded  lamp,  the  cool  night  air  hurrying  in  through 
the  opened  window,  had  both  been  beneficial.  The 
small,  sleeping  face  had  a  look  almost  of  peace.  Her 
bandaged  arm  rested  beside  her  like  a  huge  doll  hi 
a  shroud.  Across  her  forehead  was  spread  a  folded 
handkerchief. 

This  the  woman  removed  very  gently,  carrying  it 
over  to  the  lamp.  Corner  after  corner  she  searched, 
bending  close,  her  weak  eyes  gathering  wrinkles  of 
effort.  Finally  she  found  and  read  the  one  word 
"  Alden,"  beautifully  embroidered  on  sheer  linen. 
A  grim  smile  flitted  across  her  face.  Before  restoring 
it  she  dipped  it  anew  in  water,  wrung  and  folded  it, 
and  replaced  the  cooling  band  with  a  touch  as  gentle 
as  Maris'  own.  She  stared  a  moment  longer  into 
Lisshy's  face.  "  Po'  little  devil,"  she  muttered, 
"  hit's  bin  hardest  on  her  all  erlong.  An'  a  good  kid, 
too,  as  ever  I  see."  Then  she  went  back  to  Martin. 

Up  in  the  forest-strip  stood  Maris,  her  arm  about  a 
wild-cherry  tree,  her  cheek  pressed  hard  against  its 


174  RED  HORSE  HILL 

cool,  smooth  bark.  The  small  white  blossoms,  set 
thick  among  the  overhanging  leaves,  sent  down  a 
fragrance  at  once  cloying  and  bitter-sweet,  but  she 
did  not  smell  them.  The  weird  moon  hung,  inverted 
and  ill  at  ease,  among  fading  stars,  but  her  wide-set 
eyes  saw  none  of  it.  A  screech  owl  near  at  hand 
lifted  its  long,  shivering  cry,  but  Maris'  ears  were 
stone.  The  first  shock  of  discovery  had  left  her 
insensate.  Her  very  frame  felt  like  an  emptied  shell, 
one  of  those  frail  cocoons  that  winged  creatures  tol- 
erate for  a  while,  then  rend  and  spurn.  It  was  her 
winged  soul  that  had  gone,  circling  in  heights  or 
depths  that  her  dull  body  could  not  apprehend,  and 
she  must  wait  thus,  dumbly,  until  it  dragged  its 
tattered  pinions  back.  She  shuddered  violently, 
as  consciousness  returned.  With  it  was  a  half-formed 
instinct,  a  desire  to  cross  the  wood,  and  go  down 
the  darker  slope,  —  but  where,  —  to  what  redress? 
She  could  not  answer  this,  but  she  felt  that  she 
must  be  stirring.  Stumbling  and  still  half-blind,  she 
found  her  way  through  the  close-set  trees,  and  came 
out  into  the  road  upon  the  western  slope.  This  she 
followed  downward,  not  knowing  whether  it  was  a 
moment  or  an  hour  in  which  the  long,  winding  route 
was  made. 

Once  in  the  city,  with  hard  pavements  under  her 
feet,  the  pain  of  walking  brought  back  a  clearer 
consciousness.  Dwellings  of  men  lifted  their  dark 
rectangles  on  this  side  and  on  that.  The  Gothic 
spire  of  St.  John's  was  held  against  the  stars.  It 
brought  a  new  suggestion.  She  put  her  hand  to  her 
forehead,  and  stared  upward,  trying  to  fix  the  thought. 
Yes,  there  was  something  about  church  spires  that 
hinted  at  mercy  for  those  in  great  distress.  The  face 
and  name  of  Dr.  Singleterry  flashed  in  an  instant  to 
her  darkened  mind.  She  ran,  now,  to  the  rectory 


A  TRAFFICKER  IN  SOULS  175 

gate,  put  her  two  hands  upon  it,  shook  it,  and  then 
paused.  What,  if  she  went  in,  was  she  to  say  to 
him?  Would  not  an  intruder  at  this  late  hour,  — 
and  indeed,  she  had  no  way  of  judging  how  late  it 
might  be,  —  disturb  and  shock  the  old  man?  She 
wanted  him  to  know  the  terrible  thing,  and  yet, 
if  she  faced  him  now,  she  would  have  no  words  to 
speak.  There  must  be  some  other  place  where  she 
could  turn,  —  where  she  could  creep,  like  a  wounded 
animal,  until  these  curious  brown  clouds  passed  from 
her  brain,  and  all  these  strange  arrows  be  plucked 
from  her  quivering  body.  Turning,  she  made  her 
way  onward,  down  the  hill,  then  up  again.  As  she 
neared  the  top,  four  great  white  monoliths  rose 
up  like  bars  to  a  giant  gate. 

Now  the  reviving  agony  seized  her.  She  knew  at 
last  just  who  she  was,  and  what  was  the  meaning 
of  this  midnight  wandering.  She  must  not  pass  in 
through  those  white  towers,  perhaps  never  again 
could  she  pass  them.  She  recalled  the  little  alley 
in  the  rear,  opening  into  the  servants'  gate.  Yes, 
that  was  her  place,  if,  indeed,  she  had  so  much  claim 
on  the  Alden  house.  Turning  again,  she  found  the 
alley,  and  soon  had  reached  the  gate.  By  this  the 
shoes  were  practically  from  her  feet.  Her  skirt 
dragged  with  an  intolerable  load  of  clay.  Sensations 
of  physical  pain  attacked  her  all  at  once,  in  limbs, 
eyes,  head  and  heart.  She  welcomed  them,  as*the 
fanatic  his  scourge. 

Now  she  was  beginning  to  totter.  She  could  not 
lie  here  in  the  road  like  a  sick  dog.  That  would  be 
bad  for  Dwight.  She  seized  one  of  the  gate-posts 
and  clung  to  it  while  the  ague  passed.  Then  she  went 
in  and  crept  toward  the  servants'  gallery.  Aunt 
Mandy's  snores  came  regularly,  and  no  beckoning 
sail  to  a  shipwrecked  mariner  ever  evoked  more 


176  RED  HORSE  HILL 

relief.  She  knew  that  a  human  presence  was  near, 
the  old,  fat  cook  who  called  her  "  honey,"  and  "  Miss 
Maris."  "  Who  am  I  now?  "  thought  Maris,  but 
she  did  not  try  to  answer.  Dragging  herself  by 
stealthy  inches  across  the  boards,  she  reached  the 
threshold  of  the  old  negress'  closed  door,  and  lay 
against  it.  The  aching  of  her  body,  drowned,  for  a 
few  moments,  every  other  thought.  She  waited 
there,  half  delirious  with  pain,  holding  her  life  by 
intervals  that  were  measured  in  Aunt  Mandy's  snores. 

Now  from  the  valley  beyond  Red  Horse  Hill,  the 
whistle  shrieked. 

"  You  must  go  when  the  mill  whistles,"  Lisshy 
had  said. 

Maris  sat  up;  Aunt  Mandy's  stentorian  sounds 
had  stopped.  The  old  woman  was  tossing  in  her 
bed.  Evidently  the  whistle  was  her  summons  also. 

Maris  now  stood,  clutching  at  the  side  of  the  door 
for  aid,  and,  at  a  sudden  forward  sound  of  the  old 
woman  the  other  side  of  the  door  panel,  took  fright, 
and  sped  up-stairs  toward  her  own  dressing-room. 
Scarcely  knowing  what  she  did,  she  entered  and  turned 
the  key.  Softly  now  she  tried  the  other  door,  the 
one  opening  into  Dwight's  chamber.  To  her  great 
relief  it,  too,  was  locked.  Now,  with  fevered  haste, 
she  began  to  strip  off  her  soiled  and  tattered  gar- 
ments, rolling  them  into  a  bundle,  and  thrusting 
them  to  the  farthest  corner  of  her  closet.  As  well 
as  she  could,  for  caution,  she  washed  away  the  mud 
stains  from  her  hands  and  feet,  then,  putting  on  clean 
clothing  and  a  wrapper,  lay  down  on  her  couch,  and 
watched  the  gray  dawn  deepen.  The  words  of  an 
old,  forgotten  poem  flashed  to  her: 

"  God  help  the  soul  whose  grief  lies  bare, 
Before  the  sneering  smile  of  dawn." 


A  TRAFFICKER  IN  SOULS  177 

One  after  one,  familiar  sounds  rose,  the  drowsy 
clatter  of  the  milk  cart,  the  opening  of  windows  and 
of  doors,  the  silver-sweet  tones  of  the  mulatto  girl, 
Poline,  answering  Aunt  Mandy,  or  calling  back  some 
arch  reply  to  the  house-boy.  Maris  drank  all  in. 
They  would  never  be  hers  again.  Even  in  this  crux 
of  misery,  there  was  a  sort  of  satisfaction  in  pretend- 
ing they  still  were  hers. 

She  listened  breathlessly  as  she  heard  her  husband 
rise  and  move  softly  about  the  chamber  for  fear  of 
waking  her.  Agony  sharpens  the  senses  after  the 
first  numbing  shock,  and  it  seemed  to  Maris,  at  times, 
that  the  walls  must  have  dissolved  in  the  chill  air, 
so  clearly  did  every  sound  in  the  adjacent  room  come 
to  her  ears.  Now  he  had  gone  into  his  dressing  room; 
now  he  was  standing  before  the  chiffonier,  brushing 
his  hair.  She  could  see  the  very  curve  of  the  dark 
locks  on  his  forehead.  Before  going  down-stairs  he 
knocked  very  lightly  on  her  door,  and  whispered 
her  name  as  if  he  loved  it.  The  miserable  woman 
struck  herself  full  on  the  mouth  with  a  clenched  fist, 
and  held  it  pressed  there  cruelly,  lest  she  should 
answer  and  betray  herself. 

Now  he  turned,  still  gently,  and  moved  across 
the  room  toward  the  hall  and  the  stairway.  Maris 
dropped  her  hand,  and  gave  a  groan  of  agony.  The 
sickening,  salt  taste  of  blood  was  in  her  mouth. 
"  My  God,  —  my  God,  —  how  is  it  that  I  can  stay 
alive  with  this!  "  she  whispered,  but  even  before  the 
words  were  out,  the  vision  of  Lisshy's  starved  face 
answered  them. 

While  Mr.  Alden  and  his  sister  Ruth  were  in  the 
dining-room,  Poline  came  to  her  mistress'  door, 
asking,  in  a  whisper,  whether  she  should  bring  up 
some  breakfast.  Maris  got  to  her  feet,  went  to  the 
door  and,  without  opening  it,  told  the  girl  to  bring 


178  RED  HORSE  HILL 

her  a  tray  with  strong  coffee,  nothing  else.  She 
heard  Poline  still  hesitate. 

"  Well,"  she  cried  sharply. 

"  Mr.  Alden's  got  a  telegram  calling  him  away. 
He  says  he  may  have  to  be  off  several  days,  and  can't 
you  see  him  a  minute  before  he  leaves?  " 

Maris  caught  her  breath.  Here  was  something  like 
a  respite.  And  surely  it  could  do  no  harm  to  see 
him  just  this  once  before  he  left  her,  —  to  pretend, 
for  one  more  heavenly  moment,  that  she  was  his 
loving  wife !  Her  lips  opened  for  a  message  of  assent, 
when,  by  chance,  she  caught  the  reflection  of  her 
face  in  a  mirror.  She  shut  her  eyes  at  the  vision, 
and  cried  out,  "  No,  Poline,  —  tell  him  I'm  not  well 
enough,  I'm,  —  wait,  —  I  will  write  a  little  note 
to  him." 

After  a  frantic  search  for  pencils  and  a  scrap  of 
paper  (Maris'  personal  belongings  were  seldom  hi 
their  places),  she  wrote  and  folded  the  following 
words: 

"  No,  don't  try  to  see  me.  I  am  no  worse  in  sick- 
ness, but  I  look  too  ugly.  I  don't  want  you  to  carry 
away  this  memory  of  me.  Don't  keep  from  going 
for  fear  that  I  am  worse.  I  am  not.  0,  my  dearest, 
- 1  love  you.  That  is  all  that  I  must  say,  —  I  love 
you. 

"  MAKIS." 

When  the  time  came  for  him  to  leave  the  house 
she  crept  to  the  front  chamber  window,  and  watched 
him  until  the  tall  figure  disappeared.  The  soul  went 
out  of  her  eyes  to  follow  him.  Retracing  her  steps, 
she  paused  by  the  bed  where  he  had  slept,  and  buried 
her  face  for  an  instant  in  his  pillow. 

When   Poline   came   with  the   coffee,  she  asked 


A  TRAFFICKER  IN  SOULS  179 

whether  Ruth  were  still  down-stairs.  "  She's  just 
gone  out  the  front  door,  fer  a  little  mornin'  walk," 
said  Poline.  "  Shall  I  tell  Archer  to  run  after 
her?  " 

"  No,"  said  Maris.  "  I  can  easily  wait  until  she 
returns.  But  let  me  know  at  once." 

"  Yas'm,"  said  Poline,  giving  a  last  curious  glance 
as  she  backed  toward  the  door.  Maris  knew  well 
that  the  curiosity,  always  alert  in  the  negro  race, 
had  been  stirred  in  Poline  to  the  highest  pitch  by  her 
mistress'  ghastly  face,  and  the  refusal  to  say  good-by 
to  a  husband,  openly  adored.  To  divert  crude 
speculations,  Maris  said  suddenly  to  the  girl:  "  Po- 
line, I  have  decided  to  give  you  that  new  red  gown 
of  mine,  —  I  am  afraid  it  is  too  young  for  me,  after 
all,  and  it  will  become  you  perfectly." 

Poline  was  rooted  to  the  spot  at  once.  Her  great 
brown  eyes  and  her  mouth  widened.  "  You  don't 
mean  that  new  red  dress  from  Paris,  with  de  hand- 
embroidery  ! " 

"  Indeed  I  do.    Go,  get  it  now  from  the  closet." 

Poline  ran  like  a  deer,  as  if  afraid  in  the  brief  in- 
terval Maris  might  change  her  mind.  She  jerked 
it  out,  turning  it  this  way  and  that,  holding  it  up  to 
her  waist,  then  to  her  beautifully  modelled  throat. 
Everything  else,  —  even  the  giver,  was  forgotten. 

"  Maybe  them  yellow  gals  won't  sit  up  when  I 
switches  down  the  ballroom  in  this!  "  she  cried  to 
her  reflection  hi  the  mirror.  "  Thank  you,  Miss 
Maris,  —  thank  you  a  million  times.  I  never  is 
owned  nothin'  like  this  in  all  my  life." 

"  I'm  glad  that  it  can  make  you  happy,  Poline," 
said  the  other,  kindly. 

Maris  watched  the  retreating  figure,  still  smoothing 
and  fondling  the  shimmering  curves  of  silk,  and  some- 
thing like  a  smile  touched  her  lips.  A  few  days  ago 


180  RED  HORSE  HILL 

she,  too,  had  been  childishly  happy  at  the  receipt 
of  the  beautiful  gown;  she  had  worn  it  for  Dwight, 
flaunting  this  way  and  that,  and  laughing  with  the 
joy  it  gave,  and  all  that  time  Lisshy  had  been  work- 
ing, too  ill  almost  to  stand;  and  this  awful  hour  had 
been  creeping  through  the  dark. 

She  rose  again,  bathed  her  hot  face  and  hands  in 
cold  water,  and  went  to  the  window,  gazing  out 
toward  Red  Horse  Hill.  What  energy  remained  - 
and  it  was  marvellous  how  the  brief  rest,  the  coffee 
and  the  fresh  air  had  helped  her  —  was  concentrated 
on  her  new  determination  to  relate  the  whole  terrible 
situation  to  Dwight's  sister.  Nothing  that  Ruth, 
from  her  pinnacle,  could  say  or  do  could  add  to  a 
misery  already  so  intense.  Her  lofty  anger,  however 
self-justified,  would  seem  as  trivial  as  Poline's  grati- 
tude. And  the  fact  remained  that  Dwight  must 
be  told.  He  must  not  be  allowed  to  hear  of  his  deg- 
radation from  outsiders.  As  well  as  she  could  love 
anything,  Ruth  loved  this  brother.  Yes,  it  was 
Ruth's  part,  —  her  privilege,  to  be  told  everything, 
and  in  the  best  way  she  could  devise,  break  it  to 
Dwight. 

A  sudden,  loud  whirring  came  to  the  electric 
button  at  the  front  door.  Maris  involuntarily  turned 
her  head  toward  it.  The  ring  was  unfamiliar,  bold, 
—  a  braggart's  ring.  "  So  early,  —  so  very  early?  " 
whispered  Maris  to  herself.  She  ran  to  the  door  and 
listened.  There  was  no  doubt  of  it.  Archer  was 
trying  to  drive  the  creature  out,  but  he  was  laugh- 
ing, holding  his  ground.  Poline  ran  hurriedly  up- 
stairs. 

"  It's  a  man  from  the  mill,  —  Miss  Alden,  —  an* 
awful  lookin'  critter.  Archer  says  sha'n't  he  go  fer 
de  police?  " 

"  Did  the  man  give  a  name?  " 


A  TRAFFICKER  IN  SOULS  181 

"  Nome,  but  he  told  me  to  say  that  he  was  the 
father  of  the  little  girl  that  was  hurt,  and  he  wasn't 
gwinter  leave  till  you  saw  him." 

"  Put  him  in  Mr.  Alden's  study,"  said  Maris, 
turning  so  that  she  need  not  meet  Poline's  incredu- 
lous eyes.  "  It  is  for  the  little  girl's  sake  that  I  must 
see  him.  Tell  him  I  will  be  down." 

The  fear,  the  trembling,  both  passed  from  Maris. 
She  dressed  herself  with  steady  hands,  and  walked, 
without  hesitation,  down  the  white  marble  steps. 

When  she  entered  the  study,  closing  the  door 
behind  her,  Martin  was  still  on  his  feet.  His  bloated 
hands  were  clasped  behind  his  back,  in  an  affectation 
of  ease,  and  he  swaggered  up  and  down  before  the 
bookshelves,  reading  the  titles  aloud. 

"  Good  morning,"  he  said,  beginning  to  turn. 
"  Cosy  little  nest  you  have  here.  You  always  did 
like  books." 

"  I  am  not  surprised  that  you  have  come.  Now 
kindly  state  your  object  in  the  visit."  Maris  drew  her- 
self up,  her  back  against  the  oaken  panel  of  the  door. 
Deliberately  the  man  now  faced  her,  a  sneer  on  his 
thick  lips,  and  a  bold  stare  in  his  bloodshot  eyes. 
She  remained  impassive;  her  eyes,  beneath  half- 
closed  lids,  met  his  without  flinching.  Perhaps  a 
quiver  of  disgust  touched,  for  an  instant,  the  sensitive 
upper  lip,  for  now  the  man  flushed,  his  eyes  fell,  and 
he  blurted  out: 

"  The  high  and  mighty  isn't  your  best  tactics,  my 
lady.  I've  got  the  best  of  you  this  time." 

"  You  have  always  had  the  best  of  me,"  returned 
Maris,  quietly.  "  Surely  that  is  not  what  you  have 
come  here  to  say." 

The  man  strove  hard  to  regain  his  self-assurance, 
and,  in  a  manner,  succeeded.  "  I  suppose  you  recog- 
nized the  kid  as  yours,  last  night." 


182  RED  HORSE  HILL 

"  At  once.  I  knew  it  was  Felicia  the  moment  I 
entered  the  room." 

"  But  she  don't  know.  You  didn't  give  a  hint  to 
her?  " 

"  No,  it  would  have  been  bad  for  her  fever,  — 
besides,  — "  she  hesitated,  then  deliberately  con- 
tinued, —  "  I  do  not  think  the  time  has  come." 

"Oh,  you  don't!"  he  laughed  coarsely.  "Well, 
and  what  is  your  idea  of  the  proper  time,  Mrs.  Dwight 
Alden?  " 

She  did  not  reply  to  this,  and  after  an  interval  of 
restlessness  on  his  part,  and  of  heavy  breathing  which 
he  strove  in  vain  to  regulate,  he  said : 

"  Well,  am  I  to  be  kept  on  my  feet  all  day?  Let's 
sit  down  and  talk  it  over." 

"  You  may  be  seated,"  said  Maris;  "  I  prefer  to 
stand."  After  a  moment,  as  if  impelled  by  courtesy, 
she  added:  "  You  do  not  seem  to  be  very  strong." 

In  this  clear  morning  light  the  man's  spotted  skin, 
and  red-rimmed  eyes,  betrayed,  remorselessly,  the 
diseased  degenerate.  His  neck,  swollen  to  twice  the 
normal  size,  disappeared  into  rolls  of  unhealthy  fat. 
He  wore  no  collar,  and  the  top  button  was  off  his 
shirt.  He  was  an  object  to  make  any  decent  woman 
shudder,  and  during  the  interview  there  were  mo- 
ments when  Maris  could  have  hidden  her  face  in 
shame  at  the  thought  of  this  wreck  being  once  her 
husband,  the  father  of  her  child.  He  was  now  seated, 
and  the  relief  of  the  new  posture  brought  back  some- 
thing of  ease. 

"  I'd  advise  you  not  to  worry  over  my  state  of 
health,  my  dear,"  he  mocked.  "  Jim  Martin's  good 
for  many  a  day  to  come." 

It  was  the  voice  and  manner  of  the  man  as  she  had 
known  him. 

"  I  was  sure  that  you  were  dead,"  she  cried  im- 


A  TRAFFICKER  IN  SOULS  183 

petuously.      "  I    received    proofs    of    it,  —  certain 
proofs,  —  as  I  thought." 

"  Well,  me  and  that  shyster  lawyer  had  something 
to  do  with  those  proofs.  We  both  thought  it  a  shame 
that  you  shouldn't  have  another  chance.  An'  you 
took  it,  —  by  God!  you  took  it!"  He  slapped  his 
coarse  hand  down  on  his  knee,  as  if  at  a  delightful 
joke. 

For  the  first  time  Maris  addressed  him  of  herself: 
"  Will  you  tell  me  this,  James  Martin,  —  tell  me  as 
truthfully  as  you  can,  now  that  we  have  met  again, 
what  evil  do  you  consider  that  I  did  to  you,  —  you 
and  my  servant,  —  that  you  should  combine  to  put 
upon  me  all  these  terrible  wrongs?  " 

"  You  know  well  enough,"  he  answered.  "  You 
showed  that  you  couldn't  bear  the  sight  of  me,  — 
and  when  I  was  —  well,  —  a  little  soft  on  Jane, 
being  an  affectionate  nature,  you  threatened  to  rum 
the  poor  girl's  reputation.  It  was  her  idea,  taking 
Lisshy  with  us." 

"  A  woman  knows  how  to  hurt  another  woman," 
said  Maris.  "  But  it  was  your  plan  to  pretend  death, 
so  that  I  might  marry  again." 

He  laughed,  as  if  she  had  commended  him.  "  You 
didn't  have  to  marry  again,"  he  told  her.  "  And 
now  it's  a  nice  fix  you've  got  your  Yankee  dude  in." 

"  Don't  dare  to  speak  to  me  of  him,  —  you,  —  " 
cried  Maris  with  blazing  eyes. 

Her  anger  was  reflected  dully  in  him.  "  I'll  speak 
of  who  I  damn  please,"  he  said.  "  Oh,  you're  stuck 
on  him.  Everybody  knows  it.  Reg'lar  cooin'  turtle- 
doves," he  sneered.  "  Well,  my  lady,  it's  in  your 
power  to  keep  him." 

"  You  must  have  come  here  to  discuss  Felicia," 
said  Maris,  controlling  herself  by  a  strong  effort. 
"  Are  you  and  Jane  prepared  to  give  her  up  quietly?  " 


184  RED  HORSE  HILL 

"Not  by  a  long  shot,"  said  the 'man.  "And  I 
don't  intend  to  talk  about  my  daughter  until  we've 
had  out  this  other  matter.  He  doesn't  know  the  mess 
he's  in  yet,  I'll  bet." 

Maris'  face  showed  her  disgust.  She  made  no  reply, 
but  Martin  took  the  silence  for  affirmation. 

"  I  knew  you  wouldn't  be  in  a  hurry  to  give  it 
away,"  he  continued.  "  Well,  to  come  down  to 
business,  how  much  are  you  willing  to  pony  up  to 
keep  me  mum?  " 

"  To  keep  you,  —  what?  "  asked  Maris.  The  be- 
wilderment on  her  face  was  not  to  be  misinterpreted. 

"  Mum,  —  quiet,  —  mouth  shut,"  said  Martin, 
forcibly,  and  held  his  lips  pinched  together  for  further 
demonstration.  "  I'm  not  supposin'  that  you're 
ready  to  give  up  all  this,"  he  made  a  vague  gesture 
about  the  room,  "  an'  the  turtle-dove  thrown  in, 
when  a  small  chunk  of  filthy  lucre,  —  say  three  hun- 
dred per  month,  —  will  hold  it  fast." 

As  the  meaning  of  his  proposition  came  slowly 
to  her  dazed  senses,  Maris  drew  back  that  she  might 
see  him  better,  and  let  blaze  upon  him  the  full  scorn 
of  her  wonderful  eyes.  "  I  did  not  think  this  possible, 
even  to  you,"  she  said. 

For  a  moment  the  man  was  taken  aback.  In- 
credible as  was  his  course  in  the  woman's  eyes,  so 
to  his  lower  nature  was  this  utter  abnegation  of 
happiness  and  wealth  from  her.  "  What  else  is 
there  for  you? "  he  asked  her.  "  Somebody  will 
teU  him." 

"  I  shall  tell  him,  —  or  else  his  sister,"  said  Maris. 
Then  her  scorn  blazed  out  again.  "  Did  you  think 
for  one  instant  that  I  would  not  tell  him?  "  she  cried. 

"  O,  you  fool  —  you  fool !  "  answered  the  man  with 
a  note  of  hopelessness.  "  You  always  were  a  fool 
where  your  own  welfare  was  concerned.  Don't  you 


A  TRAFFICKER  IN  SOULS  185 

see  that  it  is  better  for  everybody  to  keep  this  be- 
tween ourselves?  Nobody  knows  yet  but  you  and 
me  and  Jane.  Even  old  Singleterry  has  seen  only 
Jane,  and  don't  know  I'm  alive.  You're  in  love  with 
Alden;  don't  you  care  enough  to  keep  him  out  of 
this  muck?  Agree  to  what  I  am  proposing,  and  Jane 
and  I  will  slip  out  quietly,  —  McGhee  threatens  to 
turn  us  out,  anyhow,  because  of  words  we  had  at 
the  bar  last  night.  I'm  Winch,  —  Jim  Winch,  — 
nobody  knows  me  as  anything  else.  Martin  is  good 
and  dead.  You've  got  the  papers  to  show  for  it." 
He  gave  an  evil  grin.  "  It's  up  to  you  now  to 
straighten  out  the  whole  bunch,  Lisshy  and  all,  and 
let  Mr.  Alden  never  hear  a  cheep." 

His  powers  of  persuasion  had  worked  on  her  before. 
A  stealthy  side-glance  told  him  that  now,  too,  she 
was  listening.  He  pressed  his  advantage  eagerly. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,"  he  said,  "  make  it  three  hun- 
dred fifty,  —  per,  —  what's  that  to  a  bloke  like 
Alden?  —  and  I'll  throw  Lisshy  in  fer  good  measure. 
You  can  take  her  over  for  your  own,  and  no  questions 
asked." 

"  But  what  would  my  husband  think?  " 

Martin  stared,  then  burst  into  a  laugh  of  triumph. 
"So  you  haven't  told  your  Yankee  anything!"  he 
cried.  "  Well,  you  are  in  a  nice  hole  and  no  mistake! 
But  I  won't  raise  my  price  on  you,"  he  added,  gen- 
erously. "  Three  hundred  and  fifty,  per,  —  fixed 
so  that  I  can  get  it  regular,  and  the  game  is  yours 
at  last.  What  do  you  say?  " 

He  leaned  back,  proud  and  satisfied.  Victory 
was  surely  won.  A  life  of  ease,  even  of  luxury  was 
his  to  take.  The  velvet  yielded  to  his  heavy  tread, 
already,  when  her  answer  came. 

"  I  say  that  you  are  the  lowest  coward  that  ever 
lived,  James  Martin,  and  I  know  what  cowardice  is, 


186  RED  HORSE  HILL 

for  I  have  been  one,  also.  But  that  is  over."  She 
threw  back  her  head,  and  took  a  deeper  breath.  "  I 
love  my  husband,  yes,  —  and  I  shall  always  think 
of  him  as  my  dear  husband  in  the  sight  of  God,  for  I 
married  him,  thinking  I  was  free.  And  it  is  true  that 
I  have  deceived  him,  even  to  keeping  from  him 
that  I  had  a  child.  Because  of  this,  comes  my  great 
punishment.  But,  at  least,  I  am  done  with  lying. 
If  you  should  offer  to  go  away  from  me  this  moment, 
keeping  my  secret,  giving  Felicia  to  me  without 
question  or  without  price,  —  even  if  you  were  dead 
here,  this  instant  before  me,  —  I  should  still  tell  my 
husband  who  you  were." 

"  And  —  and  —  you  fool,  —  do  you  think  he'd 
pick  you  up  out  of  the  dirt?  "  asked  the  man,  as 
well  as  he  could  for  rage. 

"  I  scarcely  think  he  would  forgive  me,"  said  Maris 
gently.  "  I  could  not  blame  him  if  he  cast  me 
away." 

"  Then  Lisshy,  —  think  of  Lisshy,  —  the  child 
you  pretend  to  care  for.  If  you  are  thrown  off  by 
these  Aldens,  —  what  can  you  do  for  her?  " 

"  I've  thought  of  that,  too,"  said  Maris.  "  But 
it  must  not  make  the  difference." 

"  You,  —  you  —  "  began  the  man,  now  inarticu- 
late with  passion.  He  beat  his  hand  on  the  table, 
and  his  breath  came  with  a  horrible,  rasping  sound. 

"  Don't  try  to  speak  any  more,"  said  Maris,  almost 
compassionately.  "  You  must  realize  that  nothing 
is  going  to  change  me.  Oh,  I'm  sorry  for  you,  — 
for  myself,  —  and  little  Felicia  most  of  all,"  a  spasm 
of  pain  crossed  her  face.  "  But  I  must  be  done, 
forever,  with  deceptions." 

He  made  an  inarticulate  sound,  and  his  head 
drooped  forward.  "  You  are  surely  ill,"  cried  Maris. 
"  Shall  I  not  ring  for  help?  " 


A  TRAFFICKER  IN  SOULS  187 

"  No,  —  no,"  he  gasped.  "  Don't  ring.  There's 
something  yet  to  say." 

She  waited  in  pitying  silence. 

"  If,  by  any  queer  chance,  —  it  was  me  who  wasn't 
the  legal  husband,  and  Alden  was,  —  I'm  all  right, 
don't  you  worry.  It's  only  for  argument,  —  but  if 
I  was  the  fake  and  could  prove  it,  —  would  —  would 
you  pay  up  handsome  fer  —  Lisshy?  " 

Maris  hesitated  before  she  answered.  "  If  what 
you  suggest  could  be  true,  it  would  bring  me  nearer 
to  happiness  than  I  ever  thought  to  be  again.  Of 
course  it  isn't,  —  I  know  that,"  she  interpolated, 
at  a  growl  and  gesture  from  the  man.  "  Dr. 
Singleterry  married  us,  and  he  would  have  been 
sure." 

"  But  suppose,  —  just  for  argument,  —  "  the 
man  persisted. 

"  I  would  still  tell  Mr.  Alden." 

Martin  with  difficulty  regained  his  feet.  "  Well, 
I'm  done  with  you,"  he  said.  "  You're  too  big  a  fool 
to  reason  with.  Fortunately  I  have  a  few  more 
irons  in  the  fire." 

He  turned  to  her  in  a  new  flare  of  anger.  "  Damn 
you,"  he  cried,  "  here  you  are  in  silk  and  velvet, 
livin'  on  the  fat  of  the  land.  You  can  afford  virtue 
and  fine  words.  Come  share  my  kennel  for  a  day  or 
two  —  'he  broke  off,  dazed  with  a  new,  malicious 
possibility.  "  And,  by  God,  that's  what  you  shall 
do!  "  he  cried.  "  If  you're  so  determined  to  be  Mrs. 
James  Martin,  we'll  go  the  whole  length.  Jane  can 
pack.  You're  better  looking,  and  fatter,  too."  He 
lurched  forward,  seizing  her  arm.  "  Well,  Mrs. 
Martin,  will  you  come  home  now,  or  shall  I  send  back 
my  coach  and  four  for  you?  " 

Maris  did  not  flinch.  She  hardly  moved.  Only  her 
head  was  slightly  turned,  and  she  glanced  down  at 


188  RED  HORSE  HILL 

his  hand  as  if  it  were  a  toad.  "  You  know  I'm  not 
in  the  least  afraid  of  you,"  she  said. 

"  Not  in  your  fine  house,  with  niggers  to  call  on," 
said  the  man,  furious  that  he  could  not  cow  her. 
"  But  I've  got  other  irons  in  the  fire.  I'll  bring  you 
to  terms  yet,  through  Lisshy.  Oho,  that  makes  you 
catch  your  breath,  does  it,  —  that  makes  you  turn 
white!  " 

"  Surely  a  helpless  and  a  suffering  child,  —  your 
own  — "  whispered  Maris,  trying  to  find  one  hint 
of  mercy  in  the  bloated  face. 

"  Just  what  I  say,"  he  echoed.  "  A  helpless  and  a 
suffering  child,  —  your  own,  and  you  with  the  power 
to  save  her  with  a  word.  Do  you  back  off  yet?  " 

"  For  her  sake,  too,  she  must  not  be  saved  through 
further  lies,"  said  the  miserable  woman.  "  God 
will  help  us,  — He  will  show  us  a  way." 

Martin  shrugged.  "  I  can't  see  that  He  has  been 
putting  Himself  out  for  you.  Well,  I'll  go  now. 
Here's  your  last  chance."  He  paused,  watching 
keenly  the  agonized  struggle  in  her  face.  "  You  shall 
never  set  eyes  on  that  kid  again,  you  know,  until 
you  have  come  to  terms.  Do  you  agree  to  my  modest 
proposition?  " 

"  God  help  me,  —  no!  "  cried  Maris.  "  Now  go 
at  once,  before  I  call  my  servants  to  put  you  out." 

She  stumbled  back  into  the  library,  flung  herself 
into  the  nearest  chair,  and  cowered  down,  with 
tightly  shut  eyes,  and  hands  pressed  over  her  ears, 
until  the  last  echo  of  his  footsteps  should  have  passed. 
Then  she  crept  up  the  marble  stairs  again  to  the  little 
dressing-room  that  seemed,  now,  her  only  shelter. 


CHAPTER  THIRTEEN 

WHAT  PITY  WAS  AKIN  TO 

WHEN  Ruth  had  started  forth,  impulsively,  on  an 
early  morning  walk,  it  had  not  been  solely  for  the 
desirable  fresh  air  and  exercise.  The  thought  of 
Lisshy  would  not  leave  her  mind;  and  she  now  wished 
to  get  into  telephonic  communication  with  Dr.  Page 
in  order  to  ascertain  his  opinions  and  his  intentions 
for  the  day  concerning  his  new,  small  patient.  In 
ordinary  professional  courtesy,  he  would  give  over 
the  case  to  the  now  returned  and  very  sheepish  mill 
doctor,  a  raw  country  youth  of  scant  medical  train- 
ing, whose  position  was  one  of  the  numerous  bene- 
factions of  Buck  McGhee,  and  who  was  said  in  county 
gossip  to  be  a  souvenir,  so  to  speak,  of  a  past  flirtation 
with  the  doctor's  pretty  sister. 

Naturally  the  Aldens  had  not  been  enlightened 
as  to  this  unsavory  rumor,  but,  apart  from  it,  in- 
competency  had  stamped  itself  on  the  practitioner's 
round  red  face,  and  hung  in  his  shifting  eye.  If 
Lisshy  were  to  live  at  all,  it  would  be  necessary  for 
Harvey  Page  to  continue  his  skilful  treatment. 

Mr.  Alden,  in  his  hurried  departure,  had  had  no 
time  for  a  personal  interview  with  McGhee,  but  he 
had  deputed  Ruth  to  be  the  bearer  of  a  message  that 
Page  was  to  have  full  access  to  the  child,  and  his 
orders  were  to  be  obeyed.  "  And  I'll  see  that  they 
are  obeyed,"  was  Ruth's  spirited  remark  to  this. 


190  RED  HORSE  HILL 

She  had  descended  the  hill  and  had  now  reached 
the  sole  emporium  of  the  neighborhood,  a  drug  store, 
one  of  those  indispensable  social  outposts  to  a  small 
town  where  candy  and  stamps  as  well  as  drugs  are 
sold,  where  neighbors  stop  for  an  exchange  of  lengthy 
personal  opinions,  and  the  telephone  booth  stands 
wide  to  every  visitor.  Of  its  many  advantages,  the 
fact  that  it  remained  open  "  Sundays,"  as  well  as 
upon  days  of  the  week,  was  not  its  least. 

Ruth's  call  found  Dr.  Page  still  at  the  hotel,  hav- 
ing not  quite  finished  a  late  breakfast.  In  answer 
to  Ruth's  direct  question  as  to  when  he  expected 
to  start  for  Red  Village  he  hesitated,  cleared  his 
throat,  and  muttered  something  about  "  regular 
mill  doctor,"  and  "  professional  etiquette." 

"  Bosh! "  cried  Ruth,  reckless  of  the  drug  clerk's 
ears.  "  That  person  is  no  doctor.  He  doesn't  know 
an  intra  canalicular  splint  from  a  crochet  needle. 
My  brother  asks  you,  as  a  personal  favor  to  us,  to 
keep  the  case." 

"  Oh,"  answered  Harvey,  with  audible  relief.  "  If 
that's  how  the  matter  stands!  I  want  to  keep  the 
case  the  worst  in  the  world,  you  know.  I  have  never 
had  such  a  remarkable  one." 

"  Then  we  may  consider  this  part  settled,"  the 
girl  announced,  in  her  quick,  decided  way.  "  There 
is  one  other  thing  —  "  she  hesitated  a  fraction  of 
a  minute,  then  hurried  on:  "  I,  also,  am  deeply  in- 
terested. I  would  like  to  go  over  there  with  you, 
if  you  don't  mind." 

"  Mind!  "  was  all  the  other  voice  said,  but  the  joy 
of  it  thrilled  through  the  feet  of  all  the  wire-perched 
sparrows  from  "  Putnam's  "  to  "  Healy's  Drug  Em- 
porium." 

"  Can't  you  manage  to  drive  Dwight's  motor-car, 
so  we  can  leave  that  smirking  French  effigy  at  home?  " 


WHAT  PITY  WAS  AKIN  TO          191 

was  Ruth's  next  question.  By  this  uncomplimen- 
tary remark  she  meant  the  chauffeur. 

"Packard?     Sure  thing!" 

"  Then  come  for  me  just  as  soon  as  you  are  ready." 
As  a  sort  of  afterword  of  caution,  Ruth  added:  "  I 
think  there  is  little  doubt  we  can  have  the  car.  My 
sister-in-law  will  scarcely  be  using  it.  She  was  not 
well  enough  to  come  down  to  breakfast." 

"  If  we  cannot,  there  are  plenty  of  buggies  to  hire," 
said  Harvey.  Clearly  he  did  not  intend  to  be  cheated 
of  his  ride. 

Ruth  walked  home  briskly,  her  head  well  up.  She 
had  the  long  swinging  stride  of  an  impudent  college 
boy,  softened,  by  femininity,  into  grace.  So  might 
have  walked  Rosalind  in  Arden.  She  seemed  quite 
anxious  to  reach  home.  Her  eyes  were  dark  and 
bright,  and  her  face,  all  womanly  now  that  the  tiny 
dimple  at  the  corner  of  her  mouth  was  having  exer- 
cise, seemed  about  to  break  into  a  more  definite 
smile.  Then  suddenly  it  sobered,  and  she  drew  a 
short,  impatient  sigh.  This  meant  that  she  thought  of 
Maris,  or  rather,  the  necessity  of  speaking  Maris' 
name  to  Harvey  Page. 

For  Ruth  had  never  been  quite  satisfied.  She 
could  not  say  that  she  doubted  what  Page  had  told 
her  of  his  past  fancy;  she  did  not,  in  her  heart, 
accuse  Maris  of  withholding  any  facts  which  might 
have  given  more  light.  Her  quarrel  was  with  her- 
self, and  might  be  stated  as  a  subtle  fear  that  she 
had  not  drawn  all  possible  inferences.  It  was  a 
matter  upon  which  she  could  scarcely  question 
either  participant.  Indeed,  from  Maris  she  desired 
no  further  allusion  to  the  past.  To  follow  the  vis- 
ionary clue  backward  through  Harvey's  conscious- 
ness would  presuppose  a  relationship  much  closer 
than  any  she  could  have  granted  without  an  un- 


192  RED  HORSE  HILL 

challenged  faith.  She  was  in  a  fast  closed  circle  and 
knew  it. 

She  threw  back  her  chin,  shook  her  head,  snapped 
energetic  finger-tips  and  said,  aloud:  "  Ruth  Alden, 
you  are  a  silly  woman,  after  all!  "  but  even  this  heroic 
treatment  brought  little  satisfaction. 

Now,  as  if  for  antidote,  she  turned  again  to  thoughts 
of  Lisshy.  Until  this  journey  to  the  South,  Ruth's 
philanthropy  had  been  theoretical,  rather  than  con- 
crete. Her  creed  spoke  loftily  of  "  The  Child."  To 
this  embodied  class  she  had  given  deep  thought,  and 
what  she  called  pity.  For  it  she  had  joined  Associa- 
tions, helped  to  plan  Schools,  and  Playgrounds,  and 
was  even  now  working  out  new  possibilities  of  good. 
But  always  it  was  for  "  The  Child."  Now  for  the 
first  time  she  had  come  face  to  face  with  the  misery 
of  an  individual  child,  just  one  uncomplaining,  heart- 
rending waif  of  life;  and  cords  of  a  hitherto  unsus- 
pected tenderness,  —  the  latent  motherhood  that 
is  in  all  good  women,  —  stirred  in  the  intellectual 
soul  of  Ruth. 

The  image  of  Lisshy's  small,  bloodless  face  was 
still  vivid  as  she  reached  the  Brattle  house,  and  was 
informed  by  the  obsequious  Poline,  that  "  Miss  Maris 
wants  to  see  you  just  as  soon  as  you  get  back." 

Ruth  was  frowning  slightly  as  she  went  up  the 
stairs.  Of  course  she  would  not  hesitate  to  grant  such 
a  request,  but  then,  on  the  other  hand,  one  never 
knew  what  was  to  happen  next  with  Maris. 

When,  however,  she  had  opened  the  door  to  the 
other's  "  Come,"  and  caught  her  first  glimpse  of 
Maris'  face,  pity  and  apprehension  put  all  selfish 
thoughts  to  flight. 

"Why,  Maris!  You  are  ill,  —  dreadfully  ill! 
Why  olid  you  let  Dwight  —  " 

Maris  interrupted  by  a  gesture.    "  Really  I'm  not. 


WHAT  PITY  WAS  AKIN  TO          193 

—  though  I  know  I  look  terrific.  But  come  closer 
to  me.  Sit  down.  I  must  tell  you  something.  I 
must  tell  it  in  my  own  way.  It  won't  be  very  long." 

Ruth,  still  thoroughly  frightened,  obeyed  without 
question.  Maris  had  received  her  in  the  small  dress- 
ing-room, which  was,  by  this,  in  perfect  order.  Be- 
sides the  long  couch,  there  was  but  a  single  chair, 
an  upright  one,  usually  placed  before  the  dressing- 
table.  It  was  to  this  that  Maris  had  pointed,  and 
she  made  no  apology  for  its  discomfort.  Her  look 
and  manner  were  those  of  one  possessed  of  an  awful 
knowledge,  and  desiring  to  be  rid  of  it.  Ruth  felt 
by  instinct  that  it  was  no  light  thing,  —  no  explana- 
tions of  a  possible  or  impossible  love-affair,  but  some 
terrific  yielding-up  of  self,  after  which  things  could 
never  be  the  same.  She  sat  quietly  waiting  until 
Maris  could  find  the  words  to  speak. 

The  one  window  stood  wide.  Maris,  though  not 
rising  from  her  sitting  posture  on  the  couch,  leaned 
forward,  and  stared  out  toward  the  great  rise  of 
Red  Horse  Hill,  and  the  smoke-stained  sky  above  it. 
Then  she  drew  a  long,  long  breath  that  turned  into 
a  shudder  as  it  reached  her  heart.  She  fixed  her 
eyes  on  Ruth,  and  all  she  could  say  at  first  was 
"Ruth,  — Ruth!" 

The  Northern  woman,  trained  to  such  observation, 
noted  the  spasmodic  gestures  of  head  and  limbs, 
and  the  blue-black  circles  under  the  eyes,  telling  of 
great  pain,  not  only  of  mind  but  of  body.  She  re- 
proached herself  now,  —  although  to  Maris  her  face 
seemed  devoid  of  all  emotion,  —  that  she  had  let 
her  brother  leave  the  city  until  one  or  the  other  of 
them  had  seen  Maris. 

"  It  is  a  terrible  thing  that  I  must  tell  you,  Ruth. 
Oh,  you  will  hate  me!  If  it  were  not  that  Dwight 
must  know,  —  I  could  spare  you  —  " 


194  RED  HORSE  HILL 

"  Just  try  to  keep  all  question  of  personality 
out  of  it,"  said  Ruth,  encouragingly.  "  If  it  is  some- 
thing that  you  want  me  to  know,  —  if  it  is  best 
either  for  your  sake  or  for  Dwight's  that  I  should 
know,  —  just  try  to  tell  it  as  if  we  all  were  strangers." 

"  Yes,  that  is  a  good  way,"  said  Maris,  moistening 
her  dry  lips.  "  That  helps  me.  It  is  like  a  cool 
hand  on  one's  forehead.  I'll  tell  you  everything,  — 
but  you  must  not  interrupt,  —  you  must  not  ques- 
tion. I  must  tell  it  my  own  way." 

"  Yes,  dear,"  said  Ruth.  "  You  shall  tell  it  ex- 
actly as  you  wish." 

"  You  are  good,  Ruth.  I'm  sorry  that  you  must 
hate  me.  Turn  your  face  away  a  little,  —  to  the 
window.  Watch  where  black  factory  smoke  rises 
as  I  speak." 

Ruth  turned  without  remonstrance,  and,  almost  on 
the  instant,  the  low  torrent  of  words  began.  Maris 
kept  back  nothing.  Her  manner  was  never  less 
dramatic.  She  made  no  gestures.  Her  voice  would 
have  been  monotonous  in  its  low,  regular  succession 
of  vowel  sounds,  but  for  the  directness  and  terrible 
sincerity  of  the  things  she  was  saying.  There  was 
absolutely  no  attempt  to  palliate  her  wrong-doing, 
or  to  gather  sympathy.  Once  only  Ruth  forgot 
her  promise  not  to  interrupt.  "  So  Dr.  Page  knew 
you  had  been  married.  And  that  was  the  reason  — 

"  Yes,  yes,  —  that  was  the  reason  of  my  excite- 
ment when  I  knew  he  was  your  friend.  But  he  is 
not  important,"  said  the  other,  as  if  in  terror  that 
she  should  be  stopped. 

"  But  Lisshy,  —  does  he  know  that  ?  "  Ruth  cried. 

"  Not  yet,  —  I  have  not  seen  him.  But  he  will 
know,  —  everybody  will  know  —  Oh,  it's  for  her 
sake,  and  to  make  it  just  a  little  easier  for  Dwight, 
that  I  inflict  this  misery  on  you." 


WHAT  PITY  WAS  AKIN  TO  195 

"  Never  mind  me,"  said  Ruth.    "Go  on  with  it." 

"  I  pretended  to  be  ill  last  night,  knowing  that, 
as  soon  as  the  house  was  quiet,  I  would  slip  away  and 
go  to  my  baby." 

"  You  went  there,  —  over  that  hill,  —  on  foot, 
last  night?  " 

"  Why,  of  course.    What  of  it?  " 

"  O,  nothing,  —  it  was  natural,  to  be  sure.  Only 
I  am  beginning  to  understand  why  you  show  such 
bodily  pain,  —  why  you  are  feverish.  I  won't  in- 
terrupt again  unless  you  ask  it." 

As  Maris  went  on  with  an  account  of  her  interview 
with  Lisshy,  Ruth  slowly  turned  back  to  the  window, 
and  set  her  eyes  upon  the  high  hilltop. 

When  Maris  told  of  the  man  Winch,  and  his  iden- 
tity with  Martin,  she  hid  her  face,  for  the  first  time, 
in  shame,  and  the  next  words  failed  to  come.  After 
a  pause  she  dropped  her  hand,  sat  upright  again, 
and  dared  to  glance  toward  Ruth.  The  latter  was 
posed  as  if  carved  in  wood.  Even  her  breathing 
was  hushed.  Maris  had  shivered  inwardly  at  the 
thought  of  what  Ruth  might  be  going  to  say.  She 
was  thankful  now,  for  all  her  courage,  that  Ruth 
did  not  speak  just  yet. 

She  went  on,  just  a  little  wearily,  to  tell  of  Mar- 
tin's intrusion,  scarcely  an  hour  before,  and  the 
propositions  and  threats  that  he  had  made.  Her 
listless  tone  said  that  these  were  not,  after  all,  of 
much  importance,  that  something  of  the  kind  was 
to  have  been  expected. 

Ruth  had  listened  keenly  throughout.  Now  she 
seemed  to  vibrate  with  intensity.  Still  with  averted 
face,  she  asked:  "  May  I  speak  here,  for  a  moment?  " 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  Maris,  "  as  much  as  you  will. 
I've  told  you  practically  all." 

"  Well,"  began  Ruth,   "  what  that  man  said  to 


196  RED  HORSE  HILL 

you  was  absolutely  true.  By  paying  him  a  reason- 
able sum  of  money  each  month,  —  and  you  could 
easily  get  it  from  Dwight  who  adores  you,  —  the 
whole  affair  could  be  kept  perfectly  quiet." 

Maris  could  only  gasp.  She  doubted  whether  she 
had  heard  correctly.  Yet  Ruth's  words  had  been 
clear  and  crisp,  like  hail. 

"  Would  you  have  advised  me  to  do  as  he  said?  " 
she  managed  to  ask,  at  length. 

"  Why  not?  You  have  deceived  my  brother  all 
along,  —  when  you  had  not  so  much  to  gain  by  it 
or  he  to  lose." 

Maris  again  sat  silent,  trying  to  repeat  these 
amazing  words.  She  was  trying  to  be  sure  that  she 
caught  their  meaning,  —  so  much  had  dazed  and 
troubled  her  of  late.  But  there  was  no  mistaking 
the  words,  or  Ruth's  calm,  unconcerned  attitude,  as 
she  sat,  in  profile,  stiffly  in  the  gilt  chair.  When  at 
length,  Maris  attempted  to  answer,  it  was  with  a 
hanging  head,  and  apologetic  air.  "  Everything  I 
do  seems  wrong,"  she  said,  "  even  when  I  am  most 
sure  it  is  right.  If  I  had  thought  that  I  ought  to 
submit  to  this  for  —  Dwight,  I  suppose  I  could 
have  managed  to  bear  my  own  shameful  part.  I 
could  have  gone  on  acting,  and  deceiving  and  being 
treacherous,  —  but,  —  somehow,  —  " 

"  Well,"  said  Ruth  coldly. 

"  Oh,"  cried  the  other,  with  the  first  ring  of  pas- 
sion in  her  voice.  "  You  can't  understand,  because 
you  don't  love  anybody.  It  is  because  of  what  I 
feel  for  Dwight.  Apart  from  Felicia  and  her  rescue, 
—  because  I  adore  your  brother—  She  paused, 
thinking  she  heard  a  sound  of  derision  from  the  girl. 

"  Of  course,  from  your  standpoint,  you  believe 
that  I  am  not  capable  of  love,  —  but  what  shall  I 
call  it?  If  you  are  perishing  by  flame,  —  who  stops 


WHAT  PITY  WAS  AKIN  TO          197 

to  think  what  kindled  it?  I  tell  you  I  adore  my  hus- 
band. The  love  I  had  when  he  first  married  me  was 
nothing,  —  nothing,  —  to  the  great  love  that  con- 
sumes me  now.  If  any  suffering  of  mine,  —  if  death 
by  slow  torture  could  take  away  even  a  little  part 
of  the  degradation  I  have  put  on  him,  —  and  on  you, 
Ruth,  —  it  would  be  something  to  thank  heaven  for. 
But  I  am  caught  in  a  trap.  I  cannot  die  because 
I've  found  Felicia,  and  she  needs  me.  She  must  be 
saved;  she  has  never  done  wrong.  Oh,  Ruth,  I 
know  it  is  too  much  to  hope  for,  but  if  you  could 
just  advise  me  a  little  about  Felicia,  —  just  as  if  she 
were  not  my  child!  But  of  course  you  can't  do  that. 
You  hate  and  scorn  me,  and  because  of  me  will  cast 
her  off." 

"  Have  you  made  any  plans?  "  asked  Ruth. 

"  No,  nothing  is  clear  to  me  yet.  But  I  have 
thought,  as  well  as  my  dazed  mind  will  let  me,  that 
perhaps  you  could  make  me  out,  to  Dwight,  even  a 
worse  woman  than  I  am.  Let  him  think  me  utterly 
cruel  and  unloving,  —  tell  him,  —  tell  him,  —  that 
I  never  really  loved  him,  —  and  only  pretended, 
for  my  own  advantage,  —  tell  him  such  cruel  things 
that  his  hatred  of  me  will  keep  his  love  from  hurting, 
—  for  he  does  love  me.  Don't  you  think  that  per- 
haps that  would  help  him,  just  a  little?  " 

Ruth  shook  her  head.  "  No,"  she  said,  "  that 
would  not  help."  Something  round  and  glittering, 
like  a  drop  of  light,  had  fallen.  Could  Ruth,  the  self- 
controlled,  be  weeping?  After  all,  she  was  a  woman, 
and  this  brother  the  dearest  thing  on  earth.  Maris 
had  been  prepared  for  scorn,  reproaches,  loathing, 
but  not  for  tears.  That  one  bright  drop  seared 
deeper  than  any  heated  phrase.  In  the  hurt  of  it, 
Maris  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"  You  are  crying  for  him,  —  you  have  the  right 


198  RED  HORSE  HILL 

to,  —  and  I,  —  why  I  haven't  even  that!  Oh,  God 
of  the  friendless,"  she  broke  out,  almost  frenzied 
now  with  her  long  constraint,  "  have  mercy  on  me 
and  give  me  all  the  suffering!  My  husband,  —  yes, 
I  will  say  it.  He  is  my  husband  in  the  sight  of  God. 
I  took  him,  believing  myself  free.  I  love  him.  I 
shall  always  love  him,  no  matter  how  wicked  you  and 
Dr.  Singleterry  think  me.  0  God,  make  it  easier 
for  Dwight!" 

She  began  pacing  up  and  down,  but  not  rhyth- 
mically, rather  in  disjointed  starts,  and  checking 
of  the  steps,  as  if  at  every  turn  were  a  spear-point. 
Ruth's  quiet  attitude  began  to  fret  her.  "  I've  told 
you  everything,  Ruth.  Why  don't  you  go?  You 
will  want  to  get  away  from  such  a  thing  as  I.  Go 
to  your  own  room,  —  it  is  clean  and  pure  and  empty, 
like  your  heart.  Go  there,  and  weep  for  Dwight." 

Ruth  came  to  Maris  and  put  her  arms  about  her. 

"  My  tears  are  for  you,  Maris,  not  for  Dwight.    Don't 

draw  back  from  me,  dear.    I  mean  it.    I  pity  you, 

-there  is  no  hate.     I  shall  help  you  to  the  very 

limit  of  my  powers." 

But  Maris  could  not  believe.  She  swerved  as 
far  away  as  Ruth's  constraining  arms  allowed,  and 
put  her  hand  against  the  girl's  breast,  while  the  dark, 
wild  eyes  searched  piteously  the  drowned  gray  eyes 
of  Ruth. 

"  You  don't  hate  me!    You  will  help  me,  —  you!  " 

"  Yes,  you  and  Felicia.  Dwight  is  a  man  and 
knows  how  to  bear  his  burdens.  You  need  me 
more." 

"I  can't  believe  it.  I  can't  believe  it!  Ruth  to 
be  my  friend! " 

"  Come  back  to  the  couch,  dear.  You  are  trem- 
bling so  that  you  can  scarcely  keep  your  feet.  When 
you  grow  quieter,  I  can  help  you  plan." 


WHAT  PITY  WAS  AKIN  TO          199 

She  followed  automatically,  and  let  Ruth  seat 
her  on  the  couch  and  then  bathe  her  forehead  and 
temples  with  cologne.  All  the  while  she  was  study- 
ing Ruth's  face,  as  though  it  were  a  stranger's. 

"  Now,  isn't  that  better?  "  said  the  girl  brightly, 
when  a  hint  of  color  began  to  creep  back  to  Maris' 
cheeks. 

Instead  of  answering  directly,  Maris  caught  her 
free  hand  and  pressed  it  to  her  lips.  "  I  could  have 
borne  anger,  —  even  cruelty  from  you,  Ruth,"  she 
whispered,  "  but  I  think  your  kindness  is  going  to 
break  my  heart." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Ruth,  "  we  haven't  got  time  to 
think  of  hearts  and  souls,  —  it's  Lisshy's  poor  little 
starved  body  that  must  be  saved." 

As  a  result  of  the  first  brief  conference,  it  was  de- 
cided that  Maris  should  not  attempt  to  go  to  the 
Winch  cottage,  or  hold  any  communication  with 
its  inmates  until  Ruth  and  Dr. » Page  should  have 
made  their  visit. 

"  And  I  shall  give  them  no  hint  as  yet,  —  the 
beasts,  —  that  I  am  in  your  confidence,"  said  Ruth, 
with  decision.  Now  that  the  first  shock  of  Maris' 
revelation  was  past,  she  began  to  feel  something 
like  excitement  in  a  situation  so  intense.  Maris 
already  leaned  heavily  on  her  judgment.  Ruth's 
straight  brows  were  knit,  the  smooth  forehead 
wrinkled  with  perplexities,  when  a  double  interrup- 
tion came.  "  Dr.  Page,  askin'  for  Miss  Alden," 
Poline  announced.  At  the  same  time  she  gave  Maris 
a  note  just  delivered  by  one  of  the  rectory  servants, 

Maris  waited  until  the  negress  had  left  the  room, 
then  beckoned  Ruth  to  stay,  until  she  had  read. 
Silently  she  handed  over  the  note.  It  was  from  Dr. 
Singleterry. 


200  RED  HORSE  HILL 

"  MY  POOR  MARIS:  I  have  thought  of  little  but  your 
new  tragedy,  and  its  relation  to  the  larger  tragedy 
from  which  the  material  prosperity  of  this,  and  sim- 
ilar communities,  arises.  Surely  you  have  digged  a 
pit  for  yourself  and  have  fallen  into  the  midst  of  it. 
In  a  strange  sense,  your  follies  and  their  result  have 
been  instrumental  in  deciding  my  own  course.  This 
will  be  the  last  sermon  I  am  to  preach  in  Sidon,  — 
perhaps  the  last  in  any  place.  I  wish  you  to  be 
present.  Do  not  speak  yet  of  my  intended  resigna- 
tion. I  shall  announce  it  from  the  pulpit.  Health 
and  my  now  irrevocable  convictions  demand  that  I 
make  public  withdrawal.  I  am  too  old.  The  sorrows 
of  little  children  bear  heavily  upon  me,  day  and  night. 
Perhaps  I  shall  again  find  peace  in  my  Orbury  gar- 
den, though  something  whispers  that  I  am  never 
to  see  that  Promised  Land  again.  It  is  there,  at 
least,  where  I  would  wish  my  tired  frame  to  rest. 
God  help  and  comfort  you,  Maris.  After  this  day 
I  shall  be  free  to  serve  you  and  Felicia  with  an  un- 
divided heart.  I  long  for  the  hour  of  my  deliver- 
ance. "  MARK  SINGLETERRY." 

"  Are  you  well  enough?  "  was  Ruth's  practical 

question. 

"  Yes,  for  you  have  given  me  new  life,  Ruth." 
"  Of  course  you  will  take  the  motor-car?  " 
"What!     For  that  tiny  distance.     The  walking 

will  do  me  good." 

Ruth,  after  a  moment's  grave  cogitation,  saw  the 

truth  of   this  and  nodded  her  consent.      "  Well,  I 

will  go  put  on  my  hat,"  she  said,  turning  toward  the 

door. 

"  0,  Ruth,  Ruth! "  cried  Maris,  running  after  her. 

But  when  the  girl's  hands  were  fast,  and  the  gray 

eyes  on  her  own,  no  words  would  come. 


WHAT  PITY  WAS  AKIN  TO          201 

"  Now,  that's  all  right!"  said  the  girl,  flushed  a 
little,  but  giving  her  good-comrade  smile.  "  I'm 
going  to  talk  the  whole  thing  over  with  Dr.  Page,  as 
you  wish.  He'll  be  sure  to  give  us  some  good  sug- 
gestions." How  sweet  was  that  small  word  "  Us  "  ! 

"Ruth!  You  didn't  really  mean  that  I  should 
have  agreed  to  Martin's  bribery?  " 

"  No,  you  dear  goose.    I  was  only  testing  you." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you  must  go,"  said  Maris,  sigh- 
ing. "  I  can  hardly  bear  to  let  you  out  of  my  sight,  — 
but, —go." 

"It  is  to  Felicia,"  said  Ruth,  with  a  beautiful 
light  in  her  eyes. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  to  Love,  as  well,"  thought  Maris, 
noting  the  new  tenderness,  but  she  was  too  wise  to 
say  it. 

The  first  church  bell  began  to  ring.  There  was  no 
time  to  lose.  She  locked  the  door,  and  began  the 
mechanical  process  of  dressing.  In  some  way,  the 
very  familiarity  of  the  motions  helped  her.  Hope, 
that  immortal  spring,  was  moistening  her  dry  heart. 
She  was  almost  cheerful  as  she  dressed  for  church. 

Ruth's  toilet  had  been  more  quickly  made.  A 
sailor  hat,  fastened  on  by  two  long  silver  hat-pins, 
thrust  slowly,  each  exactly  in  the  centre  of  a  side,  in 
holes  reserved  for  them,  a  light  chiffon  veil,  gloves, 
and  a  tan  jacket  put  on  over  her  neat  shirt  waist 
and  skirt,  completed  it.  She  ran  down-stairs  to  find 
Harvey  waiting  in  the  hall. 

"  Can  we  have  the  car?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes.  Archer  can  bring  it  around.  The  chauf- 
feur isn't  out  of  bed,  it  seems." 

"  All  right.  Archer!  "  This  latter  word  in  a  loud 
call. 

Archer's  white  teeth  appeared,  escorting  the  duskier 
part  of  him.  "  Yassir." 


202  RED  HORSE  HILL 

The  order  was  given.  Four  more  teeth  were 
immediately  disclosed.  "  But  don't  blow  yourself 
up,"  Ruth  warned,  laughing.  The  teeth  re- 
treated. 

"  Nome,"  said  Archer. 

"  Ought,  shall  I  —  try  to  see  Mrs.  Alden?  "  Harvey 
asked,  when  they  were  alone  once  more. 

"  No,  she's  much  better.  She's  dressing  now  for 
church." 

The  doctor  looked  puzzled,  but,  as  Maris  was  never 
a  favorite  topic  of  conversation,  he  was  glad  enough 
not  to  pursue  it,  or  her. 

With  his  honest  love  for  Ruth  he  resented  more 
deeply,  each  day,  her  enforced  intimacy  with  a 
woman  whose  very  presence  seemed  to  him  some- 
thing in  the  nature  of  contamination. 

The  young  physician's  constant  and  eager  appli- 
cation to  the  science  of  bodily  healing  had  left 
little  time  for  the  exercise  of  mere  sympathy.  Sur- 
gery was  his  passion,  and  he  would  have  told  you  that 
he  put  more  trust  in  the  perfect  edge  of  a  scalpel 
than  in  mawkish  sentiment.  His  experience  with 
Maris  had  undoubtedly  heightened  the  touch  of 
cynicism  latent  in  a  nature  otherwise  bright  and  nor- 
mal. His  present  love  affair  did  not  promise  to 
soften  him.  Loving  Ruth  was  little  less  of  an  ab- 
straction than  loving  Science  herself.  The  worst 
of  it  was  that  this  comparison  would  greatly  please 
Ruth  did  she  hear  it. 

Possibly  because  of  these  two  extremes  of  feminine 
nature  which  it  had  been  his  fortune  (good  or  ill),  to 
touch,  Page's  estimate  of  woman  was  utterly  without 
gradations.  Either  she  was  good  and  honorable, 
like  his  chilly  Ruth,  or,  —  she  was  the  other  thing. 
He  made  little  or  no  excuse  for  the  strength  of 
a  temptation.  Unmerited  misfortune  did,  indeed, 


WHAT  PITY  WAS  AKIN  TO          203 

evoke  from  him  compassion.  The  unhappy  marriage 
and  the  wrongs  which  Maris,  in  her  one  outburst 
of  confidence  had  disclosed,  stirred  him  to  the  depths, 
and  fired  his  boyish  heart  with  the  desire  to  help  her, 
to  help  search  for  the  lost  child,  and  punish  the 
inhuman  abductors.  But  the  fact  that  Maris  had 
told  him  such  a  thing,  and  had  continued  to  accept 
his  love  and  homage  while  continuing  to  encourage 
the  attentions  of  another  man,  seemed  a  treachery 
too  black  for  pardon. 

"  There  is  the  car  at  last.  Archer  did  manage  it! 
Why,  what  are  you  scowling  at  so  fiercely?  "  Ruth, 
at  his  elbow,  had  fired  these  three  remarks,  with 
jerky  intervals  between,  before  he  came  out  of  his 
unpleasant  reverie,  and  could  turn  to  her  an  un- 
clouded face.  The  girl  shot  him  one  keen  glance 
that  seemed  to  say,  "  I  have  an  idea!  "  then  hurried 
on  before  him  to  the  gate.  It  was  not  until  they  were 
seated,  and  Harvey  had  the  machine  well  under 
control,  that  Ruth  next  spoke. 

"It  is  absolutely  imperative  that  you  keep  up 
your  treatment  of  Lisshy.  There  are  reasons  you 
don't  yet  know." 

"  The  difficulty  of  the  case  itself  would  be  enough 
for  me,"  said  Harvey,  "  provided  your  brother  makes 
things  straight  with  the  local  sawbones.  These  small 
practitioners  are  very  touchy  about  their  so  called 
dignity." 

"  Even  when  just  brought  back  from  a  fishing 
expedition,"  whipped  in  scornful  Ruth. 

He  laughed,  and  a  minute  after  turned  with  some 
deliberation,  to  stare  at  her.  There  was  in  Ruth's 
voice  this  morning  a  young  quality  that  made  it 
very  sweet.  He  note'd,  now,  that  her  flushed  face 
matched  the  voice.  There  was  a  thrill  in  both,  and 
Harvey's  heart  lost  no  time  in  answering. 


204  RED  HORSE  HILL 

"  I  say,"  he  exclaimed,  "  wish  this  was  going  to  be 
a  long  jolly  ride  in  the  country,  instead  of  shop." 

"  But  it  is  shop,  as  you  so  gracefully  call  it,"  said 
his  companion.  "  And  for  my  part  we  cannot  get 
to  the  Winches'  cottage  too  soon." 

This  was  cold  water  in  the  face.  Page  took  it 
without  a  shiver. 

"  Tell  me,"  said  Ruth,  leaning  concessively  nearer, 
"  what  is  your  real  opinion  of  Lisshy's  case?  " 

"  I  can  tell  you  better  when  I  have  seen  her." 

"  What  a  bromide!  Of  course.  But  I  meant,  as 
you  have  been  thinking  it  over?  " 

"  A  surgeon  doesn't  think  things  over,"  declared 
young  Dr.  Page,  partly  for  the  fun  of  teasing  her. 
"  He  does  things  while  he's  there,  —  goes  off  again, 
—  and  when  he  comes  back,  inspects  results." 

"  That  harangue  is  both  bromidic  and  pompous. 
I'm  surprised  at  you,"  rejoined  Ruth,  and  elevated 
a  dainty  profile.  But  she  knew  how  to  bring  him 
about.  "  I  predict  that  you  find  your  patient  much 
better  than  you  could  have  hoped  for.  There  was 
some  one  with  her  most  of  the  night,  —  a  minister- 
ing angel,  so  to  speak,  —  in  spite  of  what  those 
fiends  she  calls  her  parents,  said  to  us." 

"  How  did  you  manage  it?  "  asked  the  other,  in- 
genuously. The  word  "  angel  "  had,  evidently,  but 
a  single  connotation  in  his  mind.  Ruth  gave  a  girlish 
laugh.  "  I  did  not  even  try.  It  was  —  Maris." 

Now  laughter  died  from  both.  For  a  moment 
Harvey  stared,  with  parted  lips.  The  machine  took 
advantage  of  the  interlude  to  skirt  a  small,  incipient 
gulley.  It  wasn't  a  deep  one,  and  if  they  had  gone  in, 
the  danger  was  not  great,  still  it  served  to  recall  the 
amateur  chauffeur  to  a  sense  of  present  responsi- 
bility. 

"  Mrs.  Alden,  —  your  brother's  wife,  —  went  to 


WHAT  PITY  WAS  AKIN  TO          205 

that  cottage?  "  he  repeated,  as  if  to  himself,  when 
again  they  were  on  clear  ground. 

"  Yes,  —  secretly,  on  foot  in  the  night,  —  there 
and  back.  It  must  have  been  a  dreadful  experience. 
I  did  not  know  of  it  when  I  telephoned  and  spoke 
so  lightly  of  her  illness.  Oh,  she  was  a  bloodless  ghost 
when  I  first  saw  her." 

"  But  she  has  gone  to  church."  Harvey's  dry  tone 
said  plainly  that  nothing  very  important  could  have 
been  the  matter. 

"  Yes,  but  that  was  after  her  long  talk  with  me. 
She  said  I  had  helped  her.  I  think  I  did  help  a  little. 
Poor  soul,  —  poor  soul." 

Harvey  did  not  attempt  to  answer  this.  He  did 
not  intend  to  be  drawn  into  open  expressions  of 
sympathy  with  this  woman,  especially  when  he  did 
not  know  what  it  was  all  about. 

Ruth  stared  straight  forward  to  the  patch  of  ever- 
ascending  red  clay  road.  Harvey  was  busied,  now, 
with  the  steering  gear.  The  outskirts  of  the  strip 
of  forest,  grass,  flowering  weeds  and  scrub,  already 
edged  their  road.  Ruth's  next  impulsive  utterance, 
"  I  shall  never  be  thankful  enough  you  didn't  am- 
putate," seemed,  on  the  instant,  quite  irrelevant, 
but  it  gave  Harvey  his  first  clue.  His  brows  came 
fiercely  together,  a  dull  red,  as  of  anger,  spread  over 
his  fair  cheek  and  throat,  and  tinged,  for  a  passing 
moment,  even  the  hands  upon  the  wheel,  but  he 
controlled  the  incipient  outburst.  Deliberately  he 
kept  silence  until  the  wood  was  reached.  Here  he 
slackened  speed.  The  thick  sand  under  the  rubber 
tires  deadened  all  sound.  Now  turning  squarely 
to  his  companion  Harvey  said:  "Tell  me  exactly 
what  you  have  heard." 

Ruth  told  him  and  he  listened  stolidly.  No  sign 
or  exclamation  came  from  him  until  he  learned  that, 


206 

after  all,  Martin  was  not  dead,  when  a  thick  sound, 
like  a  strangled  oath,  burst  from  his  closed  lips.  At 
Ruth's  startled  look  he  caught  himself  back  into 
sternness,  and  said:  "Goon.  I  am  listening.  I'll 
not  break  in  again." 

Perhaps  because  of  Marls'  shame,  perhaps  because 
of  the  new  steadiness,  the  implacability  of  Harvey's 
blue-gray  eyes,  Ruth  was  less  impersonal  than  she 
would  have  liked  to  be.  More  than  once  both  voice 
and  look  faltered  before  the  frowning  gaze.  The  pity 
she  had  hoped  for  did  not  come  into  his  face.  It 
was  almost  that  of  a  stranger. 

"  She  had  no  right  to  try  to  draw  a  pure  woman 
into  her  own  mire,"  was  his  remark,  when  Ruth  had 
finished.  "  It  was  simply  infamous." 

Ruth  shrank  a  little.  She  had  not  expected  this. 
To  her  own  astonishment  she  rather  liked  the  note 
of  mastery  in  his  voice,  the  assumption  of  protection 
of  herself.  But  this  was  not  for  Harvey  to  know. 
She  chose  indignation  for  an  armor. 

"  But  think  what  she  is  suffering.  This  is  no  time 
to  analyze  her  faults.  If  you  have  a  heart  at  all  you 
must  pity  her,  and  Lisshy." 

"  She  brought  it  on  herself." 

Ruth's  eyes  flashed.  This  time  there  was  no  pre- 
tence. "  Don't  ever  again  dare  to  call  me  cold,"  she 
cried.  "  Why,  you  are  a  regular  New  England  witch- 
burner!  " 

"  You  say  she  told  you  everything,  —  including 
her  confidence  to  me  at  the  Hospital?  " 

Ruth  nodded,  and  looked  out  at  a  bush  of  flowering 
rattle-box  beside  the  road. 

"  Then  you  understand  why  — 

"  Yes,  I  understand  it  all,"  she  broke  in,  more 
suddenly  than  would  seem  necessary.  To  her  dis- 
tress, a  warm  flood  of  crimson  rushed  to  her  face. 


WHAT  PITY  WAS  AKIN  TO          207 

She  could  feel  how  it  burned,  and  glowed  in  the  right 
ear  nearest  him.  This  sight  did  for  the  listener  what 
all  of  Maris'  tragedy  had  failed  to  do. 

"  At  least  you  are  not  always  cold  to  a  woman's 
suffering,  whatever  you  may  be  to  a  man's,"  said 
Harvey,  with  a  peculiar  intonation. 

Ruth  caught  her  breath.  A  faint  chilliness,  fol- 
lowed by  an  inexplicable  fluttering,  possessed  her 
heart.  She  had  never  before  experienced  such  sensa- 
tions. Could  it  be  possible  that  she,  an  assistant 
professor  at  Wellesley,  was  afraid  of  a  mere  man! 
Humiliating  suggestion!  And  yet  the  flutterings 
increased. 

What  might  the  mere  man  do  next?  Ruth  longed 
to  tuck  her  bare  hands  under  the  lap  robe.  Mere 
men,  she  had  been  told,  were  capable  of  strange 
familiarities  when  making  love.  And  how  was  he 
looking  at  her? 

Ruth  could  not  forbear  a  glimpse  in  his  direction. 
He  was  peering,  in  the  most  ordinary  manner,  straight 
before  him.  A  glittering  white  spray  of  dog-wood 
slanted  downward  a  hundred  yards  ahead. 

Ruth  leaned  back,  feeling,  all  at  once,  both  dis- 
concerted and  rebuffed.  Perhaps  after  all  he  had 
not  intended  to  make  love.  So  much  the  better. 
She  had  no  thought  or  interest  to  give,  just  now, 
to  trivial  matters,  but  she  admitted  herself  to  be 
deeply  disappointed  that  he  had  not  offered  to  help 
her  with  Maris.  Perhaps  he,  like  herself,  cared  only 
for  impersonal  things.  Still  he  might  have  a  little 
human  pity. 

She  smoothed  the  lap  robe  now  quite  calmly.  No 
need  at  all  of  secreting  her  hands.  What  a  fine  morn- 
ing it  was.  She  had  not  noticed  it  before.  The  dog- 
wood was  swiftly  drawing  closer.  She  turned  to  her 
companion,  thinking  to  make  some  casual  remark 


208  RED  HORSE  HILL 

about  the  day,  when,  to  her  surprise,  she  found  her 
lips  trembling  so  that  she  could  not  speak.  An 
extraordinary  obstacle  had  caught  in  her  slender 
throat,  and  seemed  to  be  distending,  so  that  the 
pressure  was  acute  pain.  Tears  rushed  to  her  eyes, 
and  she  turned  away  from  Harvey  in  troubled, 
sweet  confusion.  He  must  have  been  watching  her 
all  along,  and  only  pretended  oblivion  when  she 
glanced  at  him. 

"  Ruth,  Ruth! "  he  cried,  and  now  there  was  no 
need  to  speculate  as  to  what  was  in  his  voice.  "  I 
pity  the  poor  soul  as  you  do,  and  I'll  help  to  the  best 
of  my  power,  for  through  her  I  have  gained  what  I 
have  despaired  of,  —  the  dear  girl  I  love." 

Ruth  tried  to  withdraw  the  shaking  hands  which, 
a  moment  before,  had  been  so  cool  and  confident; 
she  strove  to  protest,  and  to  reassert  her  determina- 
tion to  live  the  intellectual  life;  but  her  heart  was 
already  too  deeply  stirred.  The  whole  universe 
began  to  spin  slowly  about  her  in  streaks  of  dark 
green  shadow,  and  new  constellations,  made  up  of 
dog-wood  flowers,  spangled  the  whirling  dusk. 

In  another  moment  she  was  in  his  arms,  and,  faint 
with  a  delicious  terror,  felt  his  first  kiss  on  her  lips. 


CHAPTER   FOURTEEN 

IN   WHICH  THE   CONGREGATION   LISTENS 

THE  second  clamor  of  church  bells  rang  pleasantly 
against  Marls'  big  window-panes.  By  starting  at 
once  she  would  be  able  to  reach  the  place  before  the 
opening  of  service;  and  this  was  her  desire. 

In  order  to  avoid  any  theatrical  effect  of  sorrow 
to  which  the  gossips  of  the  town  might  afterward 
refer,  she  had  dressed  herself  much  as  usual,  wearing 
a  blue  silk  gown  beautifully  trimmed  with  lace  and 
with  delicate  hints  of  gold  embroidery.  Her  wide 
blue  hat  bore  a  superb  aigrette  of  heron's  plumes. 
If  any  excess  was  to  be  noted,  it  lay  in  the  unusual 
thickness  of  her  white  lace  veil  through  the  meshes 
of  which  her  features  were  mistily  obscure. 

Arriving,  she  took  her  seat  in  the  farther  corner 
of  the  Brattle  pew,  knelt  for  the  conventional  mo- 
ment, and  again  sat  upright,  putting  her  veil  up 
upon  the  front  brim  of  her  hat,  though  still  it  fell  at 
each  side,  making  a  sort  of  diaphanous  hood.  The 
quiet,  the  soft  light  of  the  place,  that  indescribable 
hush  of  coming  worship  which  Emerson  describes 
as  the  best  part  of  church  service,  touched  her  sore 
heart  with  balm.  The  clear  morning  light  falling 
through  stained  glass  windows,  seized  the  heaped, 
white  chancel  flowers  and  whirled  them  into  irides- 
cence. People  began  to  enter  in  a  subdued,  continu- 
ous rush.  Little  children,  lately  from  Sunday-school 


210  RED  HORSE  HILL 

in  the  adjoining  Chapter-House,  switched  impor- 
tantly beside  their  mothers,  or,  by  permission,  went 
off  in  tittering  groups  to  alien  pews.  From  these 
dear  images  Maris  turned  suffering  eyes.  To  look 
calmly  upon  well-fed,  happy  children,  was  just  a 
little  more  than  she  could  bear.  In  order  to  deflect 
a  tide  of  thought  that  might  have  overwhelmed  her, 
she  set  her  gaze  steadily  upon  the  dull  silver  cross 
that  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  altar.  Through  the 
rising  tears  which  must  now,  by  any  means,  remain 
unshed,  the  outline  of  the  cross,  so  poignantly  fa- 
miliar, yet  so  unchangingly  mysterious,  began  to 
shiver,  slowly  to  expand,  spreading  out  thinly  against 
the  bright  flowers,  then  to  grow  higher  until  she  had 
to  lift  her  head  to  see;  and  from  it  now  there  leaned 
a  shadowy  form.  She  could  have  stretched  her  arms 
and  cried  aloud  to  It.  All  the  pent  up  faith  of  medi- 
aeval centuries  surged  through  her  open  heart.  She 
knew  now  what  the  Symbol  meant,  even  in  vulgar, 
concrete  handiwork,  to  myriads  of  the  unquestioning. 
She  was  herself  a  peasant  kneeling  at  a  wayside 
shrine,  an  anchorite  in  a  hidden  cell. 

A  new  influence,  soft,  heavenly,  caressing,  folded 
her  round.  It  was  the  organ  prelude,  feeling  its 
way  out  slowly  toward  the  light.  At  first  it  seemed 
the  low,  troubled  throbbing  of  the  universal  Heart; 
then  hope  crept  into  it,  then  triumph.  She  leaned 
back  with  a  little  sigh  of  blessedness,  knowing  that 
her  own  tortured  heart  was  finding  strength  to  bear. 
No  one  watching  her  could  have  detected  the  pres- 
ence of  the  unusual.  She  looked  about  among  the 
congregation,  returning,  with  slight  nod  and  smile, 
the  cautious  salutations  of  acquaintances. 

The  prelude  passed  into  an  anthem  and  the  choir 
began  to  sing.  Now  men  of  the  church  came  in,  the 
vestrymen  and  more  active  parishioners  taking  seats, 


THE   CONGREGATION  LISTENS      211 

with  some  ostentation,  in  the  aisle-ends  of  the  pew; 
clearing  their  throats  importantly,  and  busying 
themselves  with  the  disposal  of  tall  hats  and  hand- 
some canes.  Prosperity  exuded  from  them  like  an 
essence.  They  were  the  real  possessors,  the  guiding 
spirits  of  St.  John's  and  did  not  care  who  knew  it. 
The  Almighty  and  His  servant,  Dr.  Singleterry,  had 
some  prerogatives,  of  course,  but  as  a  matter  of 
safety  the  vestrymen  kept  the  controlling  interest 
in  their  able  hands. 

The  minister  entered  through  the  vestry  door, 
walked  to  the  middle  of  the  chancel,  and  stood  look- 
ing at  his  congregation.  With  her  first  glance  at  him 
Maris  realized  a  change.  He  looked  ill.  His  face, 
always  pale,  was  now  absolutely  blooolless.  By  all 
analogies  he  should  have  seemed  frail  and  old,  yet, 
on  the  contrary,  his  tall  form  rose  like  a  steady  flame, 
and  one  felt  in  him  immortality.  His  eyes  met  hers 
for  an  instant,  and  dwelt  there.  She  saw  in  them  the 
echo  of  his  former  words:  "Agree!  Who  said  I 
would  agree?  Some  day  I  will  speak,  and  when  I 
do,  my  congregation  shall  listen." 

During  the  remainder  of  the  anthem  he  stood 
motionless,  but  the  poise  was  that  of  strength  and 
not  of  lassitude.  Before  the  last  note  of  the  organ 
died  away,  his  voice,  with  a  thrill  in  it,  rang  out: 

"  Woe  unto  the  world  because  of  occasions  for 
stumbling,  for  it  must  needs  be  that  the  occasions 
come;  but  woe  to  that  man  through  whom  the 
occasion  cometh!  " 

The  sleek  vestrymen  exchanged  bewildered  glances. 
This  was  no  usual  prefatory  verse  of  scripture. 
What  was  the  old  man  thinking  of?  ,  The  first  touch 
of  apprehension  brushed  across  silken  shoulders 
and  crackled  in  starched  shirt-fronts.  And  all  the 
time  the  minister  was  standing  still,  —  a  most  un- 


212  RED  HORSE  HILL 

conventional  length  of  pause,  —  searching  with  won- 
derful eyes  for  a  soul  that  still  could  see.  Abruptly 
he  turned,  said  quickly,  "  Let  us  pray,"  and  knelt. 
Again  the  congregation  rustled,  and  the  soprano 
in  the  choir-loft  asked  an  indignant  question  of  the 
organist.  For  this  was  no  full  litany  Sunday.  Te 
Deums  and  Glorias  had  been  rehearsed,  and  now, 
it  would  seem,  were  to  be  discarded.  The  fattest 
vestryman,  —  the  senior-warden,  —  was  tapping  his 
forehead,  with  significant  looks  toward  the  minister. 
The  soprano  felt  consoled.  This  alone  could  really 
explain  so  grave  an  error. 

Dr.  Singleterry,  apparently  oblivious  of  the  agi- 
tation he  had  produced,  went  on  with  the  full  litany. 
Few  of  the  listeners  had  heard  those  phrases  given 
in  such  a  tone.  It  was  as  if,  in  reality,  he  thought 
himself  pleading  with  an  unseen  father  for  the  fol- 
lies of  naughty  children.  Some  of  them  refused  to 
give  the  responses,  and  sat  back  stiffly  to  show  their 
disapproval.  Nothing  is  more  obnoxious  to  a  well- 
bred  congregation  than  a  passionate  sincerity  against 
which  they  are  not  forewarned.  It  was  little  less 
than  insulting  for  this  old  man  to  cry  aloud,  in  a 
voice  of  agony:  "Have  mercy  upon  us,  —  have 
mercy  upon  us!  "  They  did  not  hear  how  Maris  in 
her  corner  whispered:  "  And  let  Thy  mercy  be  upon 
us!" 

The  senior  warden  soothed  his  dignity  by  com- 
posing to-morrow's  letter  demanding  the  minister's 
resignation.  It  should  be  politely  worded,  of  course, 
and  the  vestry  would  make  him  a  parting  present. 
In  balancing  the  relative  desirability  of  a  Tiffany 
student's  lamp  on  the  one  hand,  and  a  silver  tea- 
service  on  the  other,  the  senior  warden  managed 
to  remain  deaf,  for  some  moments,  to  the  disturbing 
influence  of  genuine  prayer. 


THE  CONGREGATION  LISTENS      213 

But  others  had  not  this  refuge.  Eyes  began  to 
fix  themselves  on  the  speaker's  face,  and  hearts  to 
stir  under  his  impassioned  words.  The  little  children 
on  the  front  bench  listened  without  self-conscious- 
ness. It  is  one  royal  prerogative  of  childhood  that 
it  can  meet  truth  unashamed. 

Just  before  announcing  the  hymn  that  precedes  the 
sermon,  Dr.  Singleterry  gave  to  the  correct  ones 
yet  another  shock.  "  I  would  like  to  request,"  said 
he,  "  that,  for  just  this  once,  the  children  remain 
to  hear  my  discourse."  He  took  a  few  steps  forward, 
smiling  down  at  the  row  of  little  ones.  "  It  won't 
be  a  long  sermon,  children,"  he  said  to  them,  "  will 
you  stay  and  listen?  "  A  little  girl  nodded  and  smiled 
back  assent.  She  was  the  idolized  and  only  child 
of  the  senior  warden. 

When  the  hymn  was  well  begun,  Dr.  Singleterry 
turned  slowly  and  went  back  to  the  altar.  As  he 
knelt,  there  were  no  visible  signs  of  emotion,  but 
Maris  felt  the  concentration  of  divine  appeal.  When 
he  rose  and  came  toward  his  people,  his  eyes  were 
swords  of  flame.  "  In  the  name  of  the  Father,  the 
Son,  and  the  Holy  Ghost!  "  he  cried;  then  he  spoke 
his  text: 

"  Be  not  afraid  of  them  that  kill  the  body,  yet 
are  not  able  to  kill  the  soul,  but  rather  fear  him  who 
is  able  to  destroy  both  soul  and  body  in  hell ! " 

Now  even  the  children  were  alarmed.  The  small- 
est among  them  had  been  taught  that  "  Hell "  was 
an  improper  word,  especially  when  spoken  with  vehe- 
mence. Dr.  Singleterry  seemed  to  feel  the  presence 
of  their  fear,  for  he  smiled  down  again  upon  them, 
and  they  relapsed  into  their  former  attitudes,  hud- 
dling against  each  other  like  a  row  of  sparrows  on 
a  limb.  They  knew  that  everything  was  safe. 

He  began  slowly,  and  with  an  apparent  effort  at 


214  RED  HORSE  HILL 

repression.  "  My  friends,"  he  said;  then  he  changed 
the  phrase  to  "  My  brethren  in  Christ."  This  did 
not  reassure  his  listeners.  It  hinted  of  undue  fa- 
miliarity. 

"  For  the  first  time  in  my  term  of  service  here,"  he 
went  on  steadily,  "  I  ask  leave  to  speak  to  you  of 
myself.  When  I  agreed  to  come  to  Sidon,  leaving 
for  it  a  community  which  had  seemed  to  me  too 
prosperous  and  too  unstable  for  any  good  which  I  was 
capable  of  giving,  I  believed  that  I  was  entering  a 
field  where  I  could  be  of  great  help  to  the  poor,  as 
well  as  a  faithful  servant  to  the  rich.  You  know 
as  well  as  I  what  restrictions  have,  from  the  first, 
been  put  upon  my  speech.  I  was  not  called  to 
spur  your  consciences,  or  to  interest  myself  in  the 
methods  of  your  business  affairs.  What  could  a 
white-haired  scholar  know  of  modern  exigencies,  or 
the  responsibilities  that  wealth  may  have  toward 
the  laborers  through  whom  it  comes?  Let  him 
speak  platitudes,  look  inspired,  and  see  that  his 
surplice  is  of  the  latest  cut,  —  then  we  are  satisfied. 
To-day  I  am  to  give  you  Christ's  view  of  responsi- 
bility, and,  hi  His  name,  I  ask  that  you  will  hear 
me." 

He  paused,  waiting  deliberately  for  the  inevitable 
frowns  and  murmurs  of  disapprobation.  He  reaped 
the  bitter  harvest  in  abundance  but  without  flinch- 
ing. One  man  made  a  motion  to  rise  and  leave  the 
church;  but  the  minister  watched  him  calmly,  and 
then  said:  "  My  friend,  bear  with  me  for  this  once. 
I  shall  not  trouble  you  again." 

The  children  craned  their  small  necks  round  to 
see  the  offender.  He  stood  still,  looking  a  little 
foolish,  until  his  wife,  crimson  with  anger  and  morti- 
fication, jerked  at  his  coat-sleeve,  and  made  him  sit 
down.  .  Now  every  one,  even  the  ruffled  soprano  in 


THE  CONGREGATION  LISTENS      215 

the  choir,  was  listening.  The  old  man's  opportunity 
had  come.  Years  afterward  his  hearers  recalled,  — 
sometimes  on  occasions  least  convenient,  —  stray 
phrases  of  that  sermon  which,  like  meteors,  were 
kept  luminous  by  their  own  force.  In  vain  proud 
women  strove  to  hold  their  faces  set  in  scorn..  In 
vain  plethoric  vestrymen  jingled  their  heavy  watch- 
chains  and  scraped  patent  leather  shoes  upon  the 
floor.  Each  listened,  and  knew  that  he  must  re- 
member. 

"  For  once,  if  never  again,"  said  Dr.  Singleterry, 
"  dare  to  face  the  possibility  of  the  truth  that  these 
people  of  the  mills  are  your  brethren,  —  your  neigh- 
bors, —  if  not  to  love  as  well  or  better  than  your- 
selves, at  least  to  treat  as  sentient  human  creatures. 
You  call  them  '  animals.'  I  have  heard  the  expres- 
sion often.  It  is  a  stock-in-trade  among  you,  and 
by  the  use  of  it  you  think  to  shut  the  door  in  a  stran- 
ger's face.  But  these  people  are  not  strangers.  In 
all  this  land  there  flows  no  purer  blood  than  in  the 
starved  veins  of  these  poor  laborers,  taken  from  our 
Southern  hills,  —  descendants,  all  of  them,  of  Puri- 
tan, Cavalier  or  Huguenot,  —  good  English  yeo- 
manry, eager  for  a  wider  life,  —  stout  Scot  and  French 
and  genial  Irish.  Dutch  with  heritage  of  thrift, 
Teuton  or  Dane,  —  giants  in  their  time  each  one 
of  them,  strong  men  who  came  to  hew  success  from 
the  wilderness,  and  so  leave  to  their  children  a  more 
splendid  opportunity.  Such  is  the  present  race  that 
you  call  '  animals.' ' 

The  audience  now  sat,  arrested.  If  conscience 
slumbered,  curiosity,  at  least,  and  a  vague  fear  were 
awake. 

"  You  tell  me  that  they  are  ignorant,  immoral, 
and  dirty,"  he  went  on  a  little  sadly.  "  Ignorant, 
indeed,  they  are,  and  have  been  kept  so  by  the  very 


216  RED  HORSE  HILL 

isolation  that  has  guaranteed  their  blood  its  purity. 
Perhaps  they  are  immoral.  How  many  of  us  might 
not  be  the  same,  if  brought  up  amid  such  surround- 
ings? —  and  the  exigencies  of  their  daily  toil  do  not 
lend  themselves  to  scrupulous  neatness.  You  are 
glad  enough  to  take  these  things  on  hearsay.  How 
many  among  you  have  gone  among  them  that  he 
might  give  his  complacency  the  test?  " 

He  looked  about  for  an  instant,  let  the  ghost  of 
a  smile  rest  upon  his  lips,  then  sighed.  "  Not  one, 
I  dare  say,  —  certainly  not  one  of  you  mill  owners, 
who  should  have  been  the  first  to  go.  Well,  I  have 
visited  mill  people,  often  with  a  sense  of  stealth  for 
which  I  am  ashamed,  and  can  tell  you  that  among 
the  most  degenerate  there  is  still  found  courtesy, 
and  gentleness,  and  a  sweet  kindness  that  puts  our 
cultured  pretences  to  shame. 

"  But  the  old  order  changes  in  the  South.  Perhaps 
even  innate  kindliness  is  soon  to  be  lost  to  them. 
Prosperity  and  factories  gather  in  this  valley  or  in 
that.  A  new  town  springs  up.  The  echoes  of  the 
great  mills  reach  even  to  the  forests,  so  that  the  quiet 
dwellers  pause,  and  ask  themselves  the  meaning.  You 
send  your  agents  out  for  '  hands,'  bribing  them  with 
fair  promises.  You  inoculate  them  with  their  first 
lust  of  gold;  and  when  the  farm  is  abandoned,  the 
cattle  sold,  and  they  must  starve  but  for  the  pittance 
you  dole  out,  you  can  take  advantage  of  their  wretch- 
edness, condemning  them  to  a  slavery  worse  than 
any  the  South  has  known.  We  look  with  pitying 
toleration  upon  the  negro  as  one  of  an  incalculably 
lower  state.  Yet  there  is  no  small  dusky  vagrant 
asleep  in  the  sun,  no  group  of  toilers  hoeing  reluct- 
antly in  spring  cotton  fields  or  gathering  its  fleecy 
whiteness  in  the  fall,  wrhose  lot  is  not  enviable  beside 
that  of  our  Anglo-Saxon  children  of  the  mills. " 


THE  CONGREGATION  LISTENS      217 

He  paused  again.  The  black  looks  among  his 
vestry  had  no  power  to  disturb  him.  No  one,  he 
knew,  would  leave  until  he  had  finished. 

"It  is  not  true  that  these  poor  neighbors  care 
neither  for  education  nor  freedom,  or  would  not  care 
if  they  once  realized  the  meaning  of  the  words.  But 
first  of  all  they  must  have  food.  You  and  your 
agents  say:  'We  keep  within  our  bond.  If  these 
people  can  not  keep  their  share  of  the  agreement, 
it  cancels  our  responsibility.'  You  will  say  this,  I 
know,  and  make  yourselves  believe  that  you  are 
justified,  even  though,  at  the  time  of  bargaining, 
you  knew  that  you  were  tricking  them.  You  specu- 
late in  human  endurance,  and  make  trade  competition 
in  terms  of  starving  flesh.  In  every  other  enterprise 
where  ignorant  labor  is  involved,  the  Law  protects 
the  poor,  the  weak,  and  ignorant  from  the  very  dis- 
advantages of  their  own  acts.  We  legislate  against 
railroads  and  restrict  monopolies.  We  are  clamorous 
against  underselling,  and  punish  high  officials  for 
rebates;  but  who  has  risen  to  protest  against  mill 
owners  who  let  children  of  eight  compete  for  wages 
against  their  own  fathers  and  mothers? 

"  What  I  speak  now  I  speak  more  directly  to  men 
and  women  of  the  South.  If  these  abuses  continue 
it  is  to  our  shame,  and  is  far  less  the  fault  of  North- 
ern manufacturers  than  our  own.  It  is  the  land  we 
love,  and  the  making  of  its  laws  are  ours.  A  little 
sisterhood  of  brave  women,  —  and  may  God 
strengthen  them  each  day!  —  is  already  battling 
for  the  right,  though  often  it  is  true  that  their  bitter- 
est opponents  are  fathers  and  brothers  of  their  own 
blood.  Laws  are  already  passed  which  you  men 
not  only  wink  at  as  dead  letters,  but  connive  to 
overthrow.  You  managers  jest  at  the  timidity  of 
inspectors,  and  some  of  your  state  officials,  —  mill 


218  RED  HORSE  HILL 

owners  like  yourselves,  —  deliberately  paralyze    the 
laws  you  swore  to  execute. 

"  Oh,  you  men!  You  blind  ones!  If  there  is  no 
mercy  in  you,  no  sense  of  brotherhood  with  God's 
poor,  have  you  not,  at  least,  foresight  and  intelli- 
gence? This  is  a  question  not  alone  of  the  humanity 
you  desecrate,  but  of  the  cherished  dollars  that 
should  come,  not  only  in  your  day,  but  to  the  suc- 
cessors of  your  class.  For  the  country's  sake,  its 
children  must  be  saved.  Will  you  cut  the  young 
trees  down  and  then  expect  a  forest,  or  pluck  green 
fruit,  and  then  keep  harvest-home? 

"  And  not  only  their  bodies,  —  those  frail  anaemic 
shells,  —  are  being  destroyed,  but  their  souls,  too 
must  sicken  and,  —  perhaps,  —  perish.  What  else 
may  we  expect  from  the  physical  conditions  that  now 
exist?  Almost  from  babyhood  the  small  features, 
nerves,  and  muscles  are  being  set,  —  hardened  as  in 
petrifaction,  —  to  some  single  paltry  end ;  and  the 
answering  faculties  of  mind  must  slowly  atrophy 
through  disuse.  If  you  dared  watch  them  you  could 
tell  the  little  victims  at  a  glance,  branded  as  truly 
as  the  alcoholic  debauchee.  There  is  a  baby  girl  of 
six,  starting  her  lifelong  slavery  at  the  spooling- 
frame.  Her  eyes  dart  like  bright  shuttles  from  one 
revolving  bobbin  to  the  next.  Her  right  hand  is 
curved  for  an  instantaneous  pounce  among  the  hissing 
threads.  Soon  the  posture  of  the  claw-like  fingers 
will  be  fixed,  tortured  to  malformation  as  surely  as 
the  cramped  feet  of  a  Chinese  girl.  After  the  long 
day's  work  is  over,  there  is  no  home  fireside  to  which 
she  can  creep  for  rest.  Her  parents,  too,  have  worked 
in  the  mill,  and  reel  home,  sodden  with  fatigue.  The 
bad  food,  badly  cooked,  can  hardly  be  forced  down. 
Each  creeps  to  the  heap  of  filthy  rags  he  calls  a  bed, 
there  to  sleep,  still  in  the  soiled  mill  clothes,  —  like 


THE  CONGREGATION  LISTENS      219 

an  exhausted  dog  until  the  first  scream  of  the  morn- 
ing's mill  whistle.  Perhaps  it  is  because  of  such 
necessities  you  call  them  '  animals.' 

"  Yonder,  creeping  like  a  shadow  against  a  mil- 
dewed wall,  I  see  a  woman.  She  is  just  forty.  An 
interesting  age  among  the  rich,  a  full-blown  rose, 
forsooth,  yielding  completeness  of  perfume.  It  is 
not  so  with  her.  She  might  be  seventy.  The  thin, 
stooped  shoulders  lean  even  in  sleep  toward  her 
'  drawing-in  '  frame.  Her  bleared  eyes,  with  their 
red  lids,  stare  always  just  before  her  into  the  fibre- 
comb  of  threads.  Her  right  hand  seems  to  lift  the 
slender  steel  hook  with  which,  for  the  chief  part  of 
her  conscious  existence,  she  must  draw  in  the  woof- 
thread  through  the  warp,  that  the  white  cloth  we 
use  may  have  a  pleasant  surface.  Yet  she  has  com- 
pensations. She  is  an  expert.  The  overseer  himself 
will  tell  you  so.  Having  for  thirty  years  transferred 
the  very  essence  of  her  being  to  the  loom,  she  com- 
mands large  wages,  one  dollar  and  seventy  cents  a  day. 
Is  it  not  a  sum  to  smile  at?  Out  of  it  must  come  food, 
—  bacon  and  meal,  —  dried  apples,  beans  and  coffee. 
She  pays  rent  to  the  mill,  taxes  to  its  appointed 
doctor,  taxes  to  the  town.  She  lights  her  hut  with 
it  and  buys  the  family  medicine,  —  for  these  people 
are  always  ill.  And  she  is  to  know  nothing  else  but 
this  sordid  round,  until  she  drops  into  an  unmarked 
grave. 

"  '  But,'  you  protest, '  are  we  to  assume  and  stagger 
under  all  the  oppression  of  all  our  Southern  poor? 
Cloth  must  be  made,  and  there  is  no  machinery 
as  yet  to  take  the  place  of  the  patient  drawer- 
in.' 

"  This  has  some  truth  in  it,  but  it  is  not  all  true. 
Each  year,  —  I  might  say,  each  month,  —  shows 
us  some  new,  mechanical  device  for  the  lightening 


220  RED  HORSE  HILL 

of  mill  labor.  At  the  North  these  are  eagerly  wel- 
comed, tested  at  once,  and  if  they  prove  satisfactory, 
installed.  Is  it  so  here?  Or  rather  do  we  not  buy  up 
the  old  machinery  because  we  have  found  that  tender 
flesh  and  blood  is  cheaper  than  good  steel!  You 
wilfully  ignore,  for  what  you  think  your  gain,  all 
that  science  and  mercy  would  do  in  such  experiment. 
Because  of  your  blindness,  the  quality  of  Southern 
manufactures  is  lower  than  at  the  North,  and  the 
disparity  in  selling  price  continually  on  the  increase. 
It  is  not  too  late  to  remedy  this  part  of  the  evil. 
Advanced  machinery  is  still  to  be  bought,  honest  in- 
spectors are  to  be  hired  and  existing  laws  enforced. 
The  limit  of  age  for  working  children  here  is  twelve. 
It  should  be  fourteen,  but  babes  of  six  and  eight  troop 
daily  to  your  mills.  There  is  the  figment  of  a  school 
law.  This  should  be  stern,  compulsory,  and  the  school 
be  made  a  place  where  the  children  long  to  go,  —  not 
a  square  cage  for  parrot-learning, — the  cramped  minds 
cannot  bear,  all  at  once,  an  abstract  discipline.  The 
normal  effort  is  of  hand  and  brain  together.  Let  them 
begin  like  a  small  primitive  race  of  men,  to  hew  and 
dig  and  fashion  substances.  Oh,  you  will  find  the 
little  artists  keen.  Teach  them  sweet  songs  in  chorus, 
teach  them  to  play,  —  they  have  never  learned  to 
play." 

His  voice  shook  slightly.  He  cleared  his  throat 
to  recover  it.  Maris,  in  her  pew-corner,  raised  her 
hand,  and  with  a  swift  gesture  pulled  down  the  white 
lace  veil  about  her  face. 

"  Give  to  the  parents  more  attractive  homes,"  the 
speaker  went  on  pleading.  "  Lighten  their  hours 
of  toil  and  give  them  juster  wages.  Profit  will  re- 
turn to  you,  in  time,  with  better  work,  and  a  higher 
grade  of  manufacture.  A  restaurant  to  each  mill, 
where  nourishing  food  may  be  given  to  the  laborers 


THE  CONGREGATION  LISTENS      221 

at  a  small  cost,  will  be  a  sound  financial  investment. 
It  has  been  tried  at  other  places,  always  with  success. 
The  improvement  in  the  quality  of  the  mill  products 
alone  would  repay  it,  and  gradually  take  away  from 
the  South  the  reproach  that  in  grade  of  workman- 
ship her  goods  are  far  inferior  to  the  North.  Is  it 
not,  at  least,  worth  the  attempt?  " 

Suddenly  the  eager  look  on  his  face  was  shattered 
into  pain.  He  gave  a  little  cry  and  pressed  his  hand 
above  his  heart.  The  congregation  watched  with 
indrawn  breath.  Now,  by  a  supreme  effort  he  re- 
covered, giving  a  gesture  that  showed  how  he  still 
wished  to  speak.  When  he  could  do  so  the  smile 
came  back  to  his  lips,  and  he  leaned  far  over  to 
the  row  of  children  near  him.  His  words  came 
clearly. 

"  What  is  more  beautiful  than  childhood!  '  Trail- 
ing clouds  of  glory  do  they  come,  from  God,  who  is 
their  home/  So  is  it  with  these  happy  little  ones, 
and  all  can  see  then*  glory.  But  with  the  mill  chil- 
dren it  is  not  glory,  but  a  cross,  that  each  one  trails, 
—  a  child's  cross!  Think  of  that!  Even  our  Saviour 
was  not  asked  to  bear  his  cross  until  he  was  a  man. 
Oh,  children  —  you  happy,  cared-for  children!"  he 
cried  aloud,  watching  their  upturned  faces,  "  listen 
well  to  what  I  am  saying,  for  never  on  earth  again 
perhaps  will  just  such  a  message  be  allowed  to  come  to 
you.  Christ  was  a  child  of  the  poor.  He  played  in  the 
shadow  of  Joseph's  shed,  and  Joseph  was  a  common 
carpenter!  Perhaps  the  Christ  child  had  His  little 
game  of  blocks,  caught  from  the  chips  and  refuse 
of  His  foster-father's  toil.  The  bright  sun  shone  on 
Him,  and  in  the  doorway  waited  His  young  mother's 
smile.  But  over  yonder,  in  the  valley  beyond  the 
crest  of  Red  Horse  Hill,"  here  he  pointed  out,  dra- 
matically, "  live  many  children  who  have  not  known 


222  RED  HORSE  HILL 

even  such  humble  play.  There  are  boys  who  never 
saw  a  picture  book  or  knew  what  it  meant  to  own  a 
real  toy;  and  little  girls  who  may  have  dreamed  of 
dolls,  but  surely  never  clasped  one.  Not  a  child 
down  there  on  the  bench  before  me,  —  and  God  love 
your  flower-like  faces !  —  is  younger  than  the  youngest 
mill  child.  They  cannot  go  to  school  for  they  must 
work.  Many  have  never  been  into  a  churcn,  or  heard 
the  sound  of  prayer.  Remember  all  these  things 
that  I  am  saying,"  he  repeated,  in  a  voice  of 
such  intense  earnestness  that  the  smallest  girl 
began  to  cry.  Then  he  threw  his  head  back  a 
little.  "God!  God!"  he  cried  aloud.  "Brand  it 
into  their  young  hearts  even  though  You  hurt 
them!" 

Now  he  leaned  down  again,  speaking  tenderly. 
"  Do  not  weep  now,  my  children,"  he  said.  "  I  am 
not  speaking  thus  to  frighten  you.  Only  remember 
what  I  say,  and  when  you  are  a  little  older  you  may 
do  much  to  help.  Even  to-day  you  may  do  something. 
Speak  to  your  parents  of  these  other  children,  — 
ask  them  to  tell  you  why  it  is  that  babies  work  in 
the  mills  all  day." 

At  last  he  gazed  out  sombrely  into  the  mass  of 
his  adult  congregation.  "  And  some  of  you  success- 
ful men  and  women,  you,  too,  will  not  forget,  al- 
though you  may  grind  your  teeth  and  swear  you 
have  forgotten.  So  does  the  lesser  man  fight  with 
his  angel!  And  these  dear  babes  are  yet  to  bear  me 
testimony.  When  I  am  dust  again,  lying  dreamless 
in  my  Carolina  hills,  —  and  may  God  grant  me  that 
sweet  haven  for  my  last  resting-place,  —  these  words 
of  mine  may  live,  and  sting,  and  goad  you  back  to 
righteousness! " 

Again  came  the  blenching  face  and  the  cry  of 
agony.  He  tottered  forward  and  raised  both  hands. 


THE  CONGREGATION  LISTENS      223 

"  In  the  name  of  the  Father,  the  Son  and  the  Holy 
Ghost! "  he  cried.  For  one  long  moment  he  looked 
straight  upward  into  the  face  of  God.  Then  he  fell. 
Before  the  first  one  reached  him,  he  was  dead. 


CHAPTER  FIFTEEN 

RUTH   INTERCEDES 

IT  is  to  be  feared  that  Harvey  would  have  re- 
mained where  he  was  all  day  had  not  Ruth  insisted 
that  he  return  to  earth,  more  particularly  to  that 
unlovely  bit  of  it  known  to  the  working  classes  as 
"Red  Village." 

They  found  Lisshy  both  better  and  worse  than  they 
had  anticipated.  The  arm,  which  was  most  im- 
portant, showed  little  increase  of  inflammation.  Her 
fever,  on  the  contrary,  burned  more  hotly,  and  had 
so  added  to  the  patient's  nervousness  that  she  could 
not  keep  her  frail  body  still  for  a  moment.  She  com- 
plained that  mill  noises  were  in  her  head.  A  blur 
of  insistent  flies,  circling  close  above,  sounded,  as 
she  now  told  Ruth,  like  "  them  old  mill  spools  comin' 
arter  me! " 

"  Why  doesn't  some  one  sit  here  and  keep  the 
flies  off  the  child?  "  asked  Ruth,  turning  an  indig- 
nant glance  toward  the  figure  of  Martin,  seated,  as 
usual,  in  the  broken  rocker;  then,  hopeless  of  re- 
sponse from  such  a  lump  of  clay,  toward  the  more 
active  Jane,  a  lean,  unlovely  effigy  of  a  woman,  now, 
for  an  instant,  at  pause  in  the  doorway. 

In  answer  to  Ruth's  scornful  eyes  and  questioning, 
she  gave  a  shrug,  and,  by  way  of  response,  began  to 
work  the  short  snuff-stick  in  about  her  discolored 
gums. 


RUTH  INTERCEDES  225 

"  The  lady,  las'  night,  breshed  flies  an'  skeeters 
off'n  me,  too,"  whimpered  Lisshy. 

Ruth  sat  down  on  the  empty  cracker  box.  No 
fan  was  to  be  seen,  so  she  took  out  her  handkerchief 
and  waved  it  vigorously. 

"  Thank  you,  Ma'am,"  said  Lisshy  presently,  a 
smile  gilding  the  pain  in  her  dark  eyes.  "  You're 
mighty  good,  but  hit  don't  smell  ez  sweet  ez  Lady's 
did  las'  night." 

"  I  never  use  scent  or  perfume,"  said  Ruth,  a  little 
stiffly. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  to  shet  up  talkin'  erbout  that 
woman?  "  said  Jane,  in  an  angry  undertone.  The 
child  shrank  and  turned  her  face  away,  remaining 
almost  breathless  until  the  speaker's  shambling  figure 
went  from  the  room.  Martin  rose,  also,  and  the  two 
moved  toward  the  rear  of  the  house  from  whence,  a 
moment  later,  their  low  voices  came  as  if  in  consul- 
tation. Ruth  sent  a  quick  look  of  apprehension  to 
her  lover,  who  now  bent  over  to  claim  Lisshy's 
fluttering  wrist.  "  Is  Mawmer  gone  fer  true?  "  the 
child  whispered  fearfully,  and  when  Ruth  reassured 
her,  submitted  gratefully  to  the  doctor's  ministra- 
tions. Soon  she  began  to  watch  with  pleasure  Ruth's 
pretty,  softened  face,  and  to  note  the  way  that 
Harvey's  eyes  went  to  it.  Now  she  looked  critically 
at  Ruth.  "  You're  pretty,  too,"  she  said  gravely. 
"  Your  cheeks  is  pink,  like  flowers."  The  dark  up- 
raised eyes  went  to  Harvey.  "Is  he  your  man?  " 
asked  Lisshy. 

Ruth's  flower-like  pinkness  deepened  to  crimson. 
"  Yes,  Lisshy,  he  is  my  man." 

Harvey  bent  a  little  lower,  that  his  lips  might  brush 
Ruth's  cheek.  Lisshy  smiled  dreamily,  pleased  with 
the  picture;  then,  all  at  once,  her  expression  changed. 
"  I  wonder  ef  Lady's  got  a  man,"  she  murmured. 


226  RED  HORSE  HILL 

"  Hush,  dear,  your  parents  are  coming,"  Ruth 
warned,  quickly. 

Martin  came  in  heavily,  followed  by  Jane.  For 
the  first  time  Harvey  looked  steadily  at  the  bloated 
wretch  who  had  been  Maris'  husband.  Disease,  dis- 
sipation, misfortune,  were  all  in  evidence;  yet 
through  the  gross  envelopment  of  the  present  man, 
it  was  easy  to  recognize  traces  of  both  strength  and 
physical  beauty.  He  seemed  to  feel  and  to  resent 
the  doctor's  cool  scrutiny.  He  stared  back  boldly, 
jerked  his  thumb  in  the  direction  of  the  cowering 
Lisshy  and  demanded:  "  How  long  befo'  that  kid 
kin  git  outer  here?  " 

Ruth,  too,  was  watching  the  speaker,  and  listen- 
ing keenly.  She  saw  that  he  was  affecting  a 
manner  of  speech  more  crude  and  ignorant  than  his 
own. 

"  You  mean,  of  course,  to  a  hospital  or  a  more 
sanitary  room?  "  Harvey  was  replying  to  the  man's 
question. 

Martin  grunted  impatiently.  "  I  said,  git  out. 
I  didn't  say  where." 

"  It  could  only  be  to  a  hospital,"  reiterated  the 
physician.  "  With  a  good  ambulance  I  should  say 
we  could  move  her  at  almost  any  time." 

Jane,  in  the  background,  gave  a  sniff.  Martin 
displayed  a  crooked  smile.  "  I  wasn't  thinkin'  uv 
ambulanches  or  red  automobiles,"  said  the  latter. 
"  Po'  folks  has  to  ride  shanks's  mare." 

"  It's  out  of  the  question  to  think  of  moving  her 
at  all,"  spoke  up  Ruth,  sharply. 

Neither  Martin  nor  his  wife  appeared  to  have 
heard  her.  The  man's  bloodshot  eyes,  now  with 
something  of  a  challenge,  were  fixed  on  Page.  "  I'm 
askin'  you  professionally,  and  I  want  an  honest 
answer,"  he  insisted,  doggedly.  "  As  a  matter  uv  pure 


RUTH  INTERCEDES  227 

human  endurance,  couldn't  she  be  moved  at  'most 
any  time?  That's  what  I'm  gettin'  at!  " 

Ruth  sprang  to  her  feet.  "  Give  them  the  strictest 
orders  not  to  attempt  to  move  her,  Harvey!  Don't 
you  see—  She  broke  off  suddenly,  and  in  the 
silence  Jane  laughed  aloud.  "  Orders!  "  she  echoed, 
with  a  sneer. 

"  You  see,  Miss  Alden,"  said  Martin,  in  a  more 
conciliatory  voice,  "  the  fact  is  that  Buck  McGhee 
has  threatened  to  turn  us  out  at  a  minute's  notice, 
and  us  poor  folks  has  to  think  ahead  to  know  whether 
a  roof's  goin'  to  cover  us  or  not." 

"  I  shall  make  it  my  business  to  see  that  Mr. 
McGhee  does  nothing  of  the  sort.  My  brother  has 
left  full  authority  with  Dr.  Page  and  myself." 

Jane  regarded  her  with  unconcealed  scorn.  "  An' 
do  you  suppose  it's  goin'  to  make  any  difference  to 
Buck  McGhee,  with  the  Boss  out  er  taown  at  that?  " 
she  drawled.  "  Buck  owns  this  village  and  ev'ry- 
thing  in  it.  Him  an'  Mr.  Winch  here  has  had  words. 
That  means  '  git  out '  fer  us.  Ain't  that  so,  Jim?  " 

The  man  nodded.  Ruth  fancied  she  caught  the 
gleam  of  a  wink.  His  crooked  smile  dawned  again, 
but  was  instantly  suppressed.  Ruth  was  now  certain 
that  the  quarrel  with  McGhee  was  being  used  as  a 
pretext,  and  that  the  two  sordid  creatures  before  her 
were  planning  quite  an  independent  campaign  of 
their  own. 

Lisshy  lay  silent,  almost  forgotten,  her  eyes  turning 
from  one  adult  face  to  another.  It  was  intoxicating 
to  realize  that  all  this  eager  discussion  concerned  her 
welfare.  Never  before  had  she  been  able  to  trunk 
of  herself  as  of  the  least  importance.  The  present 
sensation  was  not  unwelcomed. 

"  McGhee  does  not  own  this  village,  as  he  will  soon 
find  out,"  Ruth  now  cried,  with  the  more  heat  that 


228  RED  HORSE  HILL 

she  felt  doubtful.  "  I  shall  go  in  person  to  his  house 
and  tell  him  that  you  are  not  to  be  disturbed;  and 
that  the  little  girl  is  to  remain  Dr.  Page's  patient  until 
she  is  much,  much  better." 

"  You  kin  go,"  said  Jane  with  her  irritating  shrug. 
"  But  you'll  do  more  harm  than  good.  He'll  jes' 
laugh  hi  his  sleeve  at  you.  Don't  you  suppose  that 
Buck  knows  you  Yankees  ain't  got  no  more  idee 
uv  mill  people  than  a  hog's  got  uv  Sunday?  " 

"  You  are  judging  my  brother  by  other  indiffer- 
ent mill  owners,"  said  Ruth.  "  That  is  not  just. 
He  is  deeply  concerned  because  of  poor  little  Lisshy's 
accident.  That  is  the  reason  why  we  are  so  anxious 
to  help  you  and  her." 

Jane's  dull  eyes  brightened  with  anger.  "  Then 
why  didn't  he  see  to  it  that  the  movin'-bands  in  the 
children's  spoolin'  room  was  kept  covered?  "  she  cried 
fiercely. 

Ruth's  valiant  manner  drooped.  She  felt  a  sense 
of  personal  shame.  "  You  are  right  in  that  charge, 
Mrs.  Winch,"  she  said,  quite  humbly.  "  That  was 
most  regrettable.  But  my  brother  has  had  no  ex- 
perience with  machinery,  and  for  the  present  has 
to  rely  on  the  statements  of  his  overseer.  I  think 
Mr.  McGhee  ought  to  be  discharged  in  disgrace!  " 

Martin  gave  a  grunt.  "  That  wouldn't  skeer  Buck 
a  little  bit.  They  ain't  a  mill  in  this  county  or  the 
next  that  wouldn't  be  glad  to  git  him,  an'  he  knows 
it.  He's  got  the  reputation  o'  bein'  the  hardest  and 
the  best  mill  driver  in  the  South.  Besides  that,  he 
can  lie  and  trick  himself  straight  with  any  boss. 
You  won't  find  your  brother  any  different,  Miss 
Alden." 

The  man's  words  came  to  Ruth  weighted  with  a 
convincing  hopelessness.  They  seemed  the  very 
breath  of  that  dull  lethargy  which  helps  to  keep 


RUTH  INTERCEDES  229 

the  laboring  classes  of  the  South  in  thrall.  She  tried 
to  fight  the  influence  back,  to  pierce  its  shadowy 
substance  with  weapons  of  optimism,  but  before  she 
could  find  words  Jane  had  faced  her  and  was  sending 
out  a  torrent  of  bitter  speech.  "  They're  all  alike. 
Fer  a  little  while,  at  fust,  they  think  they're  goin' 
to  be  different,  then  they  stop  carin'.  They  are  down 
here  to  make  money,  and  ez  long  ez  hit  shows  up, 
they  don't  ask  questions.  The  po'  people,  down 
South,  is  jes'  so  much  grist  to  them,  —  jes'  corn  to 
be  chewed  up  in  the  mill.  Look  at  us!  "  She  gave  a 
gesture,  dramatic  through  its  pent-up  hate.  "  Look 
at  the  holes  we  live  in,  an'  the  cloze  we  wear.  As  we 
grows  old  in  work  our  yaller  skin  sca'cely  stretches 
across  our  tired  bones.  All  day  we  toils  in  the  mill 
from  six  to  six,  an'  sometimes  in  the  night,  besides. 
An'  fer  what,  —  good  money?  "  She  gave  a  laugh 
that  sounded  like  a  snarl.  "  We  never  gits  to  touch 
our  money.  Oh,  no !  They  shove  a  bunch  o'  tickets 
at  us  every  week  or  so,  an'  these  we  kin  take  down 
to  the  mill  store,  an'  swap  fer  maggoty  bacon  and 
sour  corn-meal.  Ef  we  don't  like  this,  we  kin  lump 
it.  We  mus'  buy  bad  truck  at  high  prices  in  our 
own  mill  store,  or  starve.  The  tickets  is  good  in  the 
barroom,  too,"  she  sent  a  meaning  glance  toward 
Martin,  who  fell  back  a  step,  scowling.  "  But  all 
this  helps  to  make  the  mill  profits  big,"  the  speaker 
went  on.  "  Hit  gives  the  boss  a  chanst,  every  now 
and  then,  to  buy  a  new  red  automobile."  She  looked 
out  slowly  and  with  scorn  to  where  the  big  car  stood 
waiting  in  the  sun.  The  eyes  of  her  listeners  followed. 
Suddenly  Jane  threw  her  arms  above  her  head  and 
broke  into  shrill  laughter.  "  0,  them's  great  things, 
them  red  automobiles,"  she  cried.  "  Wouldn't  it 
be  funny  ef  me  an'  Jim  should  take  to  ridin'  eround 
in  one?  " 


230  RED  HORSE  HILL 

"  Shut  up,  you  fool,"  said  Martin  savagely. 

"  I  shall  go  at  once  to  McGhee,"  said  Ruth,  with 
decision.  Her  eyes  were  now  on  Harvey.  His  clean, 
fine  face  aroused  in  her  a  sense  of  passionate  thank- 
fulness that  he  was  near.  Compared  with  him  the 
other  creatures  in  the  room,  even  poor  Lisshy,  were 
grisly  spectres.  "  I  see  that  Mr.  McGhee  is  to  be 
used  as  a  menace  to  your  patient.  The  thing  to 
do  now  is  to  turn  him  at  once  into  an  ally.  I  feel 
sure  that  by  going  to  him  alone,  and  appealing  to 
the  good  that  is  in  all  men,  I  shall  succeed." 

"  Of  course  you  would  succeed,"  said  Harvey  in- 
stantly, "  and  yet  —  " 

Jane  interrupted  with  a  question.  "  She  thinkin' 
o'  goin'  to  Buck  McGhee's  house,  alone?  " 

"  To  be  sure  I  am,"  said  Ruth,  answering  for  her- 
self. "  A  good  woman  can  take  care  of  herself 
anywhere." 

Jane  kept  silence,  but  an  evil  smile  lurked  on  her 
lips. 

"  I  presume  that,  if  not  married,  he  has  some  sort 
of  a  housekeeper,  —  his  mother,  or  some  other  elderly 
woman,"  Ruth  went  on  to  Jane,  in  her  haughtiest 
manner. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Jane  carelessly.  "  They's  a  nigger, 
Mammy  Venus.  She  takes  good  keer  o'  him.  She 
thinks  he's  erbout  the  onliest  thing  on  God's  earth, 
too.  She  raised  him  after  his  white  Mammy 
died." 

Ruth  sent  a  triumphant  look  toward  her  lover. 
Surely  if  McGhee  could  command  a  devotion  like 
this,  he  must  have  good  in  him.  But  the  young  man's 
face  did  not  clear.  "  I  think  I'd  better  go  with  you, 
and  dress  the  child's  arm  later." 

"  She's  got  more  chanst  uv  gittin'  what  she  wants 
ef  she  goes  alone,"  said  Jane,  still  nonchalant.  "  Thet 


RUTH  INTERCEDES  231 

is,"  she  added,  "  ef  she  sho',  after  all,  she  kin  take 
keer  uv  herself." 

Ruth  threw  back  her  head,  disdaining  answer. 
"  Wait  for  me  here,  Harvey,"  she  said.  "  It  is  only 
a  bit  of  a  way  down  the  road.  I'll  be  back  again 
in  half  an  hour."  Without  waiting  for  further 
words  Ruth  hurried  out,  the  two  Martins  watch- 
ing her  with  unfathomable  looks  upon  their  sodden 
faces. 

Harvey  was  the  first  to  speak.  "  Now,  then,  Mrs. 
Which,"  he  said  with  perfunctory  lightness,  "  I  shall 
need  your  assistance  here." 

"  Oh,  Doctor,  you  won't  hurt  much! "  Lisshy  be- 
gan to  plead.  Martin,  after  the  briefest  of  glances 
at  the  bed,  went  out  more  swiftly  than  Harvey  had 
yet  seen  him  move. 

Out  hi  the  sunshine,  Ruth  felt  all  of  her  courage 
revive.  Plans  and  hopes  again  took  shape.  She 
walked  on  lightly,  her  mind  flecking  between  bright 
memories  of  her  new-found  happiness,  and  the  dark 
problems  of  Maris'  desperate  condition. 

She  was  familiar  with  the  house  where  the  over- 
seer lived,  a  neat  one-story  cottage  with  vines  across 
the  front  and  a  flower  garden  on  three  sides.  To 
reach  it  she  needed  to  turn  quite  sharply  to  the  left, 
so  that  the  Winch  house  and  the  waiting  car  were 
abruptly  lost  to  view. 

March  was  nearing  its  end,  and  the  warm  days 
had  already  sent  more  than  one  faint,  languorous 
hint  of  their  near  approach.  But  this  fair  day  had  still 
a  tang  to  it,  a  delicious  coolness  that  made  one  draw 
long  breaths  and  loose  them  slowly.  Although  it 
was  Sunday  morning,  the  village  seemed  almost 
as  deserted  as  upon  week  days.  Women  and  chil- 
dren, exhausted  by  six  consecutive  days  of  work, 
slept  heavily.  From  one  cottage  and  then  another 


232  RED  HORSE  HILL 

came  the  fretful  wail  of  an  untended  child.  Once 
she  passed,  close  to  an  old  woman  seated  on  a  step. 
Her  yellow  face  was  taut  with  innumerable  wrinkles, 
and  her  hair  whiter  than  the  cotton  lint  which  had 
powdered  it  through  so  many  years.  Across  her 
knees  hung  a  very  young  infant  sucking  greedily 
at  a  strip  of  bacon  rind.  Perhaps  her  consternation 
at  this  sight  flashed  into  Ruth's  face,  for  the  old 
woman  smiled  apologetically,  and  remarked:  "  Hit's 
Maw  is  plum  wore  out  at  the  mills.  I'm  tryin'  to 
keep  hit  hushed  up  so  she  kin  rest  a  mite  longer. 
Babies  is  allays  wust  on  Sundays;  they  misses  the 
buzz  an'  hum." 

Ruth  paused  to  give  some  commonplace  reply. 
Light,  graceful  utterance  did  not  come  readily  to 
her,  but  she  felt  the  new  softness  of  her  heart  deepen 
to  pity  at  sight  of  the  smile  on  the  old  face,  and  the 
thought  of  the  exhausted  mother  asleep  within  the 
barren  hut. 

"  Won't  you  step  in  and  rest  your  bonnet,  Miss?  " 
came  the  courteous  invitation. 

"  I  can't  just  now,  I'm  afraid,"  said  Ruth,  with  a 
returning  smile,  "  I  am  in  rather  a  hurry.  But  I'd 
like  to  call  again,  some  time,  if  I  may." 

"  Any  time  at  all,  Miss,"  said  the  old  dame,  eagerly. 
"  They  won't  have  me  in  the  mills  no  more.  I  jes' 
sets  here,  tendin'  my  daughter's  babies,  an'  thinkin'." 
A  wistful  sadness  quivered  among  the  yellow  wrinkles. 
"  I'm  powerful  glad  sometimes  to  have  a  pleasant- 
spoken  visitor." 

Ruth  hurried  on,  registering  a  vow  to  make  the  call 
to-morrow  if  it  were  possible.  She  reflected,  too, 
upon  the  real  fibre  of  a  social  class  known  every- 
where, contemptuously,  as  "  Po'  white  trash,"  which 
yet  held  latent  such  charming  qualities  of  cour- 
tesy. 


RUTH  INTERCEDES  233 

The  overseer's  home  made  an  attractive  picture  in 
the  sunlight.  It  alone,  of  all  the  village,  boasted  a 
surrounding  fence.  This  had  been  recently  white- 
washed and  shone  out  with  dazzling  cleanliness.  The 
gate  was  painted  a  dull  green.  At  each  side  of  it 
stood  a  low,  thick,  umbrella  China-tree,  now  masses 
of  purple,  lilac-like  flowers.  Their  heavy  perfume 
filled  the  air,  and  seemed  to  lie  on  the  earth  like  a  dew. 
Years  afterward  when,  travelling  in  foreign  countries, 
Ruth  chanced  upon  a  blossoming  China-tree,  the 
odor  turned  her  sick  and  faint. 

The  garden  beds,  of  shapes  and  relative  placing 
suggested  by  the  passing  whim  of  Mammy  Venus 
only,  were  edged  with  beer  and  whiskey  bottles  buried, 
neck  downward,  to  within  a  few  niches  of  the  upper 
end.  Scattered  throughout  the  beds  was  a  medley 
of  roses  and  old-fashioned  blooms,  tansy,  flag-lilies, 
bachelor-buttons,  rosemary,  phlox,  and  larkspur. 
The  great  rose  vine  across  the  face  of  the  house  was 
a  "  Lady  Banksia,"  just  beginning  to  open  its  small, 
multitudinous,  buff-colored  flowers.  Tangled  amidst 
its  luxuriance  ran  a  wistaria  vine,  now  hung  with 
purple  clusters.  It  was  already  past  its  prime,  and 
Aunt  Venus  even  now  was  sweeping  fallen  azure 
florets  from  the  "  gallery  "  floor. 

At  sight  of  her  Ruth's  courage  rose  still  higher. 
Aunt  Venus'  massive  bulk  alone  might  promise 
safety.  She' wore  a  black  and  white  calico  dress,  a 
long  blue  gingham  apron,  hand-embroidered  across 
the  bottom  in  white  thread,  and  an  old-fashioned 
bandanna  head-kerchief  of  orange,  black  and  white. 
It  all  made  a  charming  picture,  and  Ruth  walked 
softly  that  she  might  take  her  fill  of  it. 

"  Is  this  the  home  of  Mr.  McGhee?  "  she 
asked  politely,  when  she  had  almost  reached  the 
speaker. 


234  RED  HORSE  HILL 

Mammy  turned  slowly.  The  unexpected  voice 
had  not  startled  her  in  the  least.  All  of  her  motions 
partook  of  leisure  and  of  dignity. 

"  Yas'm,  it  sho'ly  is,"  she  vouchsafed  at  length. 
Her  tone  was  not  exactly  cordial.  The  rolling  of 
her  great  ox-like  eyes  might  even  be  said  to  express 
mistrust. 

"  Then  you  must  be  his  housekeeper,  of  whom  I 
have  heard,"  Ruth  hurried  on,  with  more  confidence 
than  she  felt.  "  I  am  very  glad  that  you  are  here. 
I  am  Miss  Alden,  and  would  like  to  speak,  for  a  mo- 
ment, with  your  master." 

Aunt  Venus  leaned  ponderously  on  her  broom. 
The  supple  straw  writhed  upward  into  a  protesting 
shell.  "  Mas'r!  Whose  master?  I  ain't  had  no 
mas'r  sence  de  war,  'scusin'  Jesus,"  she  began, 
throatily  when,  from  behind  the  green  blinds  of  a 
window  came  a  rich  second  voice,  half  angry,  half 
amused:  "  That's  Miss  Alden,  the  boss's  sister.  Ask 
her  in,  you  old  fool  nigger,  you! " 

"  Marse  Buck's  dressin'  hissef  in  thar,"  stated 
Aunt  Venus,  quite  superfluously.  "  He  sez  you  kin 
come  in." 

This  was  a  little  too  much.  Ruth  felt  hysterical. 
"  I  regret  having  disturbed  Mr.  McGhee  so  early 
in  the  day,"  she  rejoined  in  a  clear  voice.  The  hour 
was  now  past  eleven.  "  I  would  not  allow  him  to 
be  disturbed  but  for  the  fact  that  I  have  come  upon 
important  business.  Yes,  I  shall  wait.  No,  not  in 
the  house,  —  certainly  not!  I  will  stop  out  here, 
on  the  verandah." 

"  Fetch  a  chair.  The  best  plush  rocker.  And  get 
a  move  on  you  fer  once!"  Thus  the  voice  behind 
the  blinds. 

The  chair  of  state  finally  dragged  forth  and  Ruth 
seated  upon  it,  she  was  able  to  review  the  situation 


RUTH  INTERCEDES  235 

more  complacently.  Aunt  Venus  had  vanished  within 
doors.  The  sounds  of  masculine  robing  were  at 
pause.  Over  the  valley  a  Sabbath  stillness  lay.  The 
big  mill  stood  like  a  deserted  fortress,  its  thousand 
windows  dull.  Beyond  the  crest  of  Red  Horse  Hill 
huge  clouds  of  white  arose,  dissolved,  re-formed, 
and  heaped  their  glittering  spheres  anew.  The  sky 
behind  them  was  blue  as  a  turquoise  shield.  A 
mocking-bird  swooped  down  to  a  China-tree  where, 
perched  among  the  blossoms,  he  sang  with  a  spring- 
time ecstasy. 

McGhee  had,  by  this,  evidently  enticed  his  house- 
keeper to  the  rear,  there  to  confer  more  privately. 
But  Mammy  was  guiltless  of  diplomacy.  Her  voice, 
booming  against  his  whispered  "  hush,"  rose  now, 
distressingly  audible.  "  I  ain't  got  no  sort  o'  patience 
wid  dese  brazen  jades  er  comin'  arter  you,  to  your 
very  do'!  Kain't  even  git  yo'  Sunday  mornin'  nap 
fer  'em." 

McGhee  gave  a  low,  fierce  reprimand,  but  Mammy 
was  undaunted.  "  Bustin'  up  all  my  projects,  too," 
she  rumbled.  "  I'se  bleeged  to  go  to  Zion,  I  tell 
you!" 

To  this  the  man  muttered  a  conciliatory  sentence, 
then  suddenly  raised  his  voice  as  if  wishing  Ruth  to 
hear.  "  And,  remember,  the  next  time  a  lady  like 
Miss  Alden  comes  to  this  house,  you're  to  behave 
as  if  you  were  used  to  ladies  whether  you  are  or  not." 

Mammy,  partially  subdued,  growled  out  something 
about  "  All  right  den.  Jes'  so  's  Zion's  safe." 

McGhee's  reply  was  even  more  cryptic.  "  Butter- 
milk, first;  then  Zion." 

The  sound  of  his  advancing  footsteps,  wonder- 
fully light  and  elastic  for  a  giant,  could  be  heard 
along  the  hall.  Ruth  sat  rigidly  upright  and  told 
herself  to  be  at  ease.  It  was  for  Maris  and  the  child 


236  RED  HORSE  HILL 

that  she  had  come.  Let  her  keep  that  fact  always 
first  in  mind. 

McGhee  came  forward  with  a  quiet  grace  and 
courtesy  that  many  a  city  man  might  have  envied. 
"  This  is  mighty  kind  of  you,  Miss  Alden,"  he  began. 
"  I  can't  tell  you  how  I  appreciate  the  honor." 

She  smiled  faintly,  and  gave  him  gray,  gloved 
finger-tips.  "  You  must  realize,"  she  said,  a  little 
breathlessly,  "  that  it  is  a  matter  of  business,  of 
urgent  necessity,  that  brings  me  here  at  all." 

"  Uv  co'se  I  know,  only  too  darned  well,"  he 
answered  whimsically.  "  But  kain't  you  let  a  feller 
feel  proud  fer  jes'  five  minutes?  "  He  walked  a  few 
paces  beyond  her  to  the  top  of  the  low  entrance  steps, 
where  he  leaned  against  a  wooden  pillar  draped  in 
vines,  and  stood  looking  down  with  undisguised 
pleasure  into  her  face.  The  freshness  of  the  clear 
spring  was  about  him.  He  glowed  with  the  colors 
of  youth,  and  health  and  an  almost  savage  vitality. 
Scarcely  knowing  that  she  did  so  Ruth  smiled  back 
at  him.  Then  the  object  of  her  visit  nudged  her. 

"  I  came  to  say,"  she  began,  with  more  determina- 
tion, when  an  imploring  gesture  stopped  her. 

"  Why  sech  a  tumble  hurry  on  Sunday  morning? 
Bizness  kin  always  manage  to  wait.  Jes  lemme  look 
at  you  in  peace  a  minute.  It  ain't  often  I  have  any- 
thing so  pretty  on  my  front  gallery,  not  even  when 
my  Lady  Banksia  here  is  in  full  bloom."  He  put  a 
hand  up  to  touch  the  shining  leaves.  He  seemed  a 
big,  kind-hearted  boy  whom  it  would  be  inhuman 
to  affront.  "  Mammy's  goin'  to  bring  us  out  some  uv 
her  buttermilk  right  away,"  he  went  on  as  if  coaxing. 
"  An'  Mammy's  buttermilk  can't  be  beat." 

"  Please,  —  please,  don't  put  yourself  or  your 
servant  to  further  trouble,"  Ruth  pleaded.  "  What 
I  have  to  say  to  you  will  take  only  a  moment." 


RUTH  INTERCEDES  237 

"  That's  jes'  what  I'm  skeered  of,"  said  Buck, 
naively.  "  You'll  git  through  too  all-fired  quick, 
and  then  —  "a  gesture  toward  the  gate  completed 
the  sentence. 

Ruth  laughed  in  spite  of  her  annoyance,  and  at 
this  instant  Mammy  sailed  out  like  a  large,  dusky 
balloon,  conveying  a  tray  on  which  stood  two  glasses 
of  thick  white  fluid.  She  took  one  and  placed  it 
on  the  floor  beside  her  until  she  should  have  removed 
her  gloves.  Buck  sat  down  on  the  top  step,  pos- 
sessed himself  of  the  remaining  glass,  and  proceeded 
to  a  leisurely  and  audible  enjoyment  of  the  contents. 

Ruth  swiftly  drank  a  portion  of  hers,  and  replaced 
the  glass  upon  the  floor  with  a  determined  thump. 
"  I  have  just  come  from  the  Winches'  cottage,  Mr. 
McGhee,"  she  announced. 

Buck  drained,  unhasting,  his  last  drop,  set  his 
glass  down,  and  began  feeling  about  in  his  pockets 
for  a  handkerchief  with  which  to  remove  the  curdled 
crescent  of  buttermilk  perched  now  upon  his  upper 
lip.  Finally  successful,  he  performed  the  operation 
with  lingering  care,  and  then,  turning  his  blue  eyes 
to  his  visitor,  said  softly,  "  From  the  Winches'  cot- 
tage. What  a  tender-hearted  lady  you  must  be." 
He  sighed  heavily  and  shook  his  curly  head.  "  Po' 
little  Lisshy!  That  accident  o'  hern  jes'  about  broke 
me  up.  An'  now,  to  think  it's  all  over!  " 

"  All  over!    What  do  you  mean  by  that?  " 

"  Ain't  the  kid  dead,  then?  "  asked  Buck,  genuinely 
surprised. 

"Certainly  she's  not  dead.  She's  doing  nicely. 
Is  that  the  way  you  keep  in  touch  with  your  mill 
people?  " 

Buck's  eyes  fell.  "  Somehow  I  got  it  into  my  haid 
that  the  poor  little  devil's  troubles  were  over.  I 
kinder  hoped,  fer  her  sake,  that  they  were.  I  sho' 


238  RED  HORSE  HILL 

thought  she  was  dead.  That's  the  reason  I  haven't 
been  after  Jim  Winch  sooner." 

Ruth  stiffened.  "  Been  after  him,  to  turn  him 
out?  "  she  asked  severely. 

Buck's  eyes  were  set  on  the  speaker.  It  could  not 
be  said  that  his  face  changed,  yet,  all  at  once,  it  was 
not  the  face  of  a  good-natured  boy.  "  So  he's  told  you 
that,  has  he?  And  it's  him  that's  sent  you  here  — 

"  No  one  sent  me,"  Ruth  interrupted.  "  I  came 
of  my  own  free  will  to  ask  you  to  help  Dr.  Page 
and  me  save  Lisshy's  life.  In  the  first  place,"  she 
hurried  on,  "  Dr.  Page  should  be  allowed  to  keep  on 
with  the  case.  This  is  of  paramount  importance.  If, 
with  all  the  complications,  it  is  taken  over  now  by 
your  ordinary  mill  doctor,  it  will  surely  mean  her 
death." 

"  Kennedy's  got  no  call  to  butt  in  at  this  late 
day,"  said  McGhee  thoughtfully.  Kennedy  was  the 
mill  doctor.  "  Has  he  been  tryin'  to  shoot  off  his 
mouth?  " 

Ruth  paused,  perplexed.  She  needed  a  moment 
in  which  to  translate  into  her  own  language  this  alien 
phrase.  More  by  instinct  than  logic  she  finally 
grasped  the  meaning  and  replied  to  it.  "  Oh,  no. 
Nothing  whatever  has  been  heard  from  Mr.  Kennedy. 
The  difficulty  arises  from  Dr.  Page's  own  feelings  of 
delicacy." 

McGhee  leaned  his  handsome  head  back  against  the 
pillar  and  laughed  aloud,  —  an  infectious  sound. 
"  Well,  Miss  Alden,  you  kin  say  to  your  city  doctor 
that  usin'  delicacy  in  these  parts  is  sorter  like  hoein* 
cotton  in  white  kid  gloves.  Hit  ain't  helpful.  Jes' 
let  him  keep  on  with  Winch's  little  gal  as  long  as  he 
has  a  mind  to.  Fer  my  part  I'll  never  git  done  bein' 
thankful  that  we  had  sech  a  cracker  jack  doctor  on 
hand  when  it  happened!" 


RUTH  INTERCEDES  239 

"Nor  I!"  echoed  Ruth  eagerly.  Something  be- 
sides the  thought  of  Lisshy  was  turning  her  smile 
into  sunlight. 

"  An'  you  come  all  this  way  alone,  jes'  to  make 
things  straight  fer  a  sick  baby,"  he  murmured,  his 
blue  gaze  melting  against  her  own. 

"  How  fortunate  that  I  did,"  the  girl  laughed.  A 
happiness  such  as  hers  is  an  Eden  where  a  very  large 
serpent  may  safely  conceal  himself.  Her  answering 
look  was  sweeter,  more  provocative  than  she  knew. 
The  dark,  animal  blood  surged  up  in  McGhee's  neck, 
and  burned  in  his  clean-shaven  face.  The  first  vague 
hint  of  uneasiness  touched  his  companion.  She 
made  as  if  to  rise.  "  Well,  I  am  successful  in  the 
main  tiling,  —  but  there  is  one  other  —  " 

"Good  Lord!  More  business!"  cried  the  man. 
"  I  had  jes'  begun  to  hope  fer  a  little  chat  all  to  our- 
selves." 

"  I  am  afraid  that  I  have  time  this  morning  only 
for  business,"  she  reiterated,  and  felt  that  she  had 
to  use  effort  to  keep  her  smile  still  kind. 

The  man's  face  underwent,  now,  a  distinct  trans- 
formation. His  underlip  shook  slightly,  and  he 
turned  away  before  asking,  gruffly:  "  More  about 
Winch?  " 

"  Yes,  he  said  that  you  and  he  had  had  words,  and 
that  you  threatened  to  turn  him  out  at  once,  even 
though  Lisshy  were  still  very  sick.  A  few  moments 
ago  I  heard  him  asking  Dr.  Page  whether  it  would 
be  fatal  to  move  her." 

McGhee's  eyes  had  been  brightening  with  an  in- 
crease of  attention.  He  now  removed  his  gaze,  and 
leaned  back  slowly.  A  long  and  thoughtful  interval 
was  allowed  to  pass  before  he  attempted  speech.  Ruth 
found  herself  waiting  with  some  impatience. 

"  That's  a  bad  egg,  —  that  Winch,"  said  McGhee, 


240  RED  HORSE  HILL 

at  last.  Even  in  denunciation  his  voice  was  low  and 
rich  and  good  to  hear. 

"  Many's  the  time,"  he  went  on,  "  that  I've  wished 
I'd  never  seen  him.  He's  the  sort,  him  an'  that 
forlorn  wife  an'  kid  o'  his'n,  that  gives  a  bad  name 
to  mill  villages." 

"  Even  so,  the  child  is  not  to  blame,"  insisted  Ruth. 
"  Let  us  think  only  of  her.  You  certainly  are  not 
going  to  evict  the  family  while  she  is  in  this  desperate 
condition! " 

McGhee's  face  darkened.  "  I  don't  consider  my- 
self quite  a  devil,"  he  said. 

Before  the  embarrassed  Ruth  could  frame  words 
for  excuse  or  extenuation  he  had  turned  a  searching 
look  toward  her.  "  No,"  he  repeated  in  a  less  sullen 
tone,  "  I  ain't  no  devil,  no  matter  what  some  of  these 
folks  about  here  may  say,  —  but  I'm  a  man,  with  a 
man's  reasonin'  powers,  an'  it's  comin'  to  me  stronger 
with  each  minute,  that  there's  something  all  fired 
peculiar  hi  this  Winch  affair.  Mill  chillun  has  a  finger 
or  a  foot  took  off  every  now  an'  then.  Sometimes 
one  uv  the  poor  little  vermin  is  killed  outright  an' 
buried  on  that  clay  slope  to  the  north  o'  Red  Horse 
Hill.  I've  been  an  overseer  here  for  nigh  onto  four- 
teen years,  an'  I've  seen  all  these  things  happen,  but 
I  ain't  never  before  chanced  to  observe  red  automo- 
biles chasin'  through  Red  Village,  or  fine  young  city 
doctors  spendin'  their  time  in  the  hovel  of  an  injured 
child." 

His  eyes,  now  hard  and  blue  as  steel,  seemed  to 
grip  Ruth's  heart.  She  held  herself  together  bravely, 
though  she  felt  the  small  shivers  of  apprehension 
run  along  Tier  veins.  What  was  he  trying  to  drag 
from  her  with  that  relentless  scrutiny?  Or  had  she, 
already,  betrayed  too  much? 

Fragments  of  a  dozen  sentences  darted  into  her 


RUTH  INTERCEDES  241 

mind,  only  to  be  hurled  back.  In  order  to  do  some- 
thing which  might  relieve  the  uncomfortable  strain 
she  sprang  to  her  feet.  McGhee  did  not  rise,  and,  for 
an  instant,  the  advantage  in  her  physical  position 
gave  her  a  fictitious  dignity. 

"  Having  just  arrived  in  Sidon,  I  am  not  competent 
to  discuss  past  events,"  she  said  to  him  coldly  and 
with  an  obvious  effort  at  ease.  "  This  is  my  first 
experience,  and  I  find  it  of  intense,  though  of  heart- 
rending interest.  I  cannot  thank  you  enough,  Mr. 
McGhee,  for  the  relief  your  promise  not  to  molest 
the  Winches  has  given  me."  Here  she  stepped  closer 
and  extended  her  hand  for  a  farewell.  "  I  am  leaving 
in  a  much  more  optimistic  frame  of  mind  than  when 
I  came,  I  assure  you." 

McGhee  appeared  not  to  see  the  hand.  He  was 
gazing  outward  dreamily  to  the  purple  China-trees 
where  a  second  mocking-bird  now  swayed  and  sang. 
He  waited  for  the  joyous  arietta  to  end  before  he 
drawled  out,  gently:  "  All  the  same,  I  wouldn't  advise 
you  to  be  too  certain  that  things  is  goin'  as  you  want 
with  Lisshy." 

The  hand  fell  abruptly.  She  did  not  ask  his  mean- 
ing, but  stood,  silent  and  confounded,  waiting  until 
he  should  choose  to  speak  again. 

"  You  see,"  he  went  on  in  the  same  gentle,  rumina- 
tive way,  "  I'm  perfectly  aware  that  you  ain't  been 
tellin'  me  the  half  of  what  was  in  yo'  mind;  likewise 
I  ain't  got  no  call  to  take  off  my  front  shutters,  and 
tell  you  to  look  in.  But  this  much  I'll  make  you  a 
present  of  —  fer  good  feelin'.  —  Keep  your  eye  on 
Winch." 

Ruth  abandoned  all  pretense.  "  Why  he,  —  what 
sort  of  thing  could  he  do,  so  long  as  you  and  my 
brother  are  determined  to  protect  the  child?  " 

"This  is  a  free  land,  lady,"  smiled  the  other. 


242  RED  HORSE  HILL 

"  Nothin'  this  side  er  death  or  God  A'mighty  can 
hinder  Jim  Winch  from  lightin'  out  ef  he  takes  a 
notion  to  light." 

"  You  mean,  —  going  away,  —  carrying  Lisshy 
with  him?" 

McGhee  nodded.  "  The  same.  Didn't  you  tell 
me  you  heerd  him  ask  the  doctor  about  movin'  her?  " 

"  Yes,  but,  —  that  was  because  of  you.  He  said 
it  was." 

McGhee  laughed,  a  low,  musical,  irritating  sound. 
"  Oh,  ef  Winch  said  it  was  —  "he  echoed,  and  then 
fell  silent,  the  wrinkles  of  mirth  about  his  eyes  twitch- 
ing. 

"  Is  there  then  nothing  to  be  done?  "  asked  the 
girl,  desperately. 

Before  replying,  her  host  began  to  rise,  slowly,  with 
long,  undulating  movements  like  that  of  a  great, 
sleek  cat.  Yet,  in  spite  of  sensuous  grace,  there  was 
no  hint  of  femininity.  One  felt  almost  a  barbaric 
muscular  strength  in  each  languid  turn. 

At  full  height  his  brown  head  towered  up  among 
the  flowering  vines.  From  out  the  fantastic  setting 
his  clean-shaven,  boyish  face  looked  out  with  an 
absurd  resemblance  to  a  cherub  on  an  Easter  card. 

Whatever  shrewd  or  calculating  thoughts  had 
recently  possessed  his  mind  were  now  discarded. 
Kindness,  good-will  and  hospitality  illuminated  every 
feature.  He  put  forth,  at  last,  an  answering  farewell 
hand  to  hers.  "  I'll  do  what  I  kin  because  you  hev 
thought  enough  uv  Buck  McGhee  to  ask  it,"  he  said 
to  her.  "  I'll  stroll  down  to  Winch's  atter  awhile, 
in  person,  an'  make  it  plain  to  him  that  that  thar 
child  has  got  to  hev  proper  care.  I'll  set  the  neigh- 
bors to  watchin'  him.  I  reckon  the  two  uv  us,  Miss 
Alden,  you  an'  me,  '11  prove  a  match  fer  Jim  Which 
yet!" 


RUTH  INTERCEDES  243 

He  threw  back  his  head  to  laugh.  His  splendid 
teeth  flashed  white  as  bits  of  shell.  Ruth's  hand  was 
still  retained  in  a  gentle,  yet  compelling  hold.  The 
man  seemed  unconscious  of  this  fact,  but  Ruth's 
cheeks  began  to  burn,  and  she  tugged  faintly  to  free 
herself  as  she  answered:  "  I  will  never  forget  your 
kindness,  Mr.  McGhee.  Be  assured  of  this." 

He  bent  again  to  her.  His  voice  was  low,  and 
almost  oppressive  with  the  warm,  musical  richness 
of  its  tone.  "  Remember  this,"  he  said  earnestly. 
"  That  whether  we  can  or  can't  make  things  go 
just  as  we  would  wish  for  Lisshy,  it  ain't  goin' 
to  be  your  fault.  You  shore  hev  done  your 
plucky  best.  I  tell  you,  Miss  Alden,  women  like 
you  are  too  good  to  live  in  a  world  made  fer  us 
men." 

"  You  can  scarcely  expect  me  to  second  that 
motion,"  answered  Ruth,  trying  to  laugh  as  easily 
as  he  had  laughed.  But  this  proved  more  difficult 
than  she  could  have  foreseen. 

"  Really,  I  must  be  off,"  she  cried,  trying  to  speak 
brightly.  She  wrenched  her  hand  away  and  took 
a  few  energetic  steps  forward. 

McGhee  checked  her  by  a  touch  upon  the  shoulder. 
"  One  minute,  Miss  Alden,  jest  one  more,"  he  pleaded. 
"  Now  that  you  are  here,  an'  we  hev  become  sech 
good  friends,  —  I  was  wonderin'  whether  you  would 
mind  very  much  steppin'  inside  my  little  parlor.  It 
ain't  much,  an'  the  blinds  is  gen'lly  shut,  —  but 
my  old  mother's  picture  hangs  in  there."  He  broke 
off  abruptly.  His  voice  shook. 

For  an  instant  Ruth  hesitated.  Her  first  thought 
was  to  refuse.  Yet  how,  with  no  time  to  make  ex- 
cuses, was  a  request  like  this  to  be  denied?  Better 
accede  at  once  and  have  it  over.  Besides,  if  the  man 
really  loved  the  memory  of  his  mother  and  kept  the 


244  RED  HORSE  HILL 

darkened  parlor  as  a  shrine  —  This  last  reflection 
turned  the  scales. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  your  mother's  picture," 
said  Ruth.  "  Is  this  the  door?  " 

"  Nome.  This  one,  to  your  right,"  said  McGhee, 
keeping  well  in  the  rear,  but  stretching,  now,  a  long 
arm  past  her  to  reach  the  rusty  knob. 

Under  his  powerful  grasp  it  shook,  then  turned, 
protesting  in  small  shrieks  at  its  long  disuse.  He  did 
not  open  the  panel  at  once. 

"  This  is  the  door,  Miss,"  he  repeated. 

Without  taking  further  steps  forward,  Ruth  leaned 
over  and  smote  the  door  with  her  gloved  left  hand. 
She,  too,  was  strong  for  a  woman,  and  instantly 
the  creaking  panel  swung  back  far  enough  to  show 
an  unswept  apartment  with  no  furniture  but  a  square 
pine  table  and  four  chairs  in  the  centre,  —  crude 
paraphernalia,  it  would  seem,  for  midnight  card 
games.  On  the  walls,  for  ornament,  hung  various 
posters,  pictorial  calendars  and  liquor  advertise- 
ments of  the  grossest  sort. 

In  an  instant  the  girl  had  wheeled;  the  fury  of 
outraged  womanhood  was  in  her  face  and  voice. 
"You  dared!  You  dared!" 

She  put  her  two  hands  to  her  throat,  and  stood 
looking  at  him,  as  if  incredulous  of  the  insult. 

McGhee  glared  back  at  her.  The  bold  assurance 
of  his  mien  was  gone.  "  You  came  here  after  me," 
he  cried.  "  You  knew  well  enough  I  wasn't  no  Pil- 
grim Father.  What  did  you  expect  when  you  come 
alone,  —  on  Sunday  mornin'  ?  " 

"  There  was  a  woman  here,"  Ruth  looked  about 
as  if  hoping  to  see  Mammy  Venus'  protecting 
bulk. 

"  She's  safe  in  Zion,"  chuckled  the  man  malig- 
nantly. ' '  I  took  good  care  to  hurry  her  off  to  church." 


RUTH  INTERCEDES  245 

"  Oh,  oh,"  Ruth  gasped,  now  almost  speechless 
with  indignation.  "  My  brother  shall  know  of  this!  " 

"  An'  so  shall  my  friend  Jim  Winch,"  retorted  the 
other.  "  Maybe  I  know  a  little  more  uv  your  game 
than  you  hev  been  countin'  on.  I'll  go  to  Winch's 
house,  just  like  I  promised,  —  I  won't  take  too  much 
time  to  start  there,  neither.  An'  what  I'll  say  to 
him- 

"  Hush,  I  will  hear  no  more!  "  cried  Ruth,  putting 
her  hand  up  to  her  ears.  In  another  moment  she  was 
down  the  steps  and  speeding  between  the  purple 
China-trees. 

As  she  ran,  long,  dry  sobs  of  terror  kept  rising 
in  her  throat.  All  her  high  courage  had  ebbed, 
now  that  the  necessity  of  using  it  was  over.  She 
knew  that  he  was  not  pursuing,  yet  she  dared  not 
look  around.  She  pressed  both  hands  tightJy  over 
her  ears  that  she  might  never  again  hear  that  sick- 
ening voice.  Her  thoughts  would  not  come  clearly. 
Wild  terrors,  snatches  of  fear,  scurrying  apprehen- 
sions came  and  went.  It  was  as  if,  in  a  well-ordered 
city  garden,  a  host  of  wild-fowl  should  suddenly 
appear  and  circle,  screaming.  There  was  no  con- 
scious statement  of  her  own  situation  until  when,  hi 
a  turn  in  the  road,  she  came  full  view  upon  the  wait- 
ing motor-car.  Now  she  was  safe.  Her  speed  slack- 
ened. She  could  have  thrown  herself  down  at  full 
length  upon  the  clay  to  weep.  At  the  door  of  the 
still  distant  cottage  stood  a  tall  figure  clothed  in  gray. 
He  waved  down  to  her,  and  she  could  almost  see 
the  happiness  that  brightened  in  his  eyes.  She 
stretched  her  arms  out  once  and  let  them  fall.  "  Oh, 
I  can  never  tell  him,  —  I  can  never  find  words  to  tell 
of  such  a  thing!"  she  sobbed  aloud.  As  she  spoke 
her  voice  held  the  echo  of  a  former  tragedy  that  she 
now  seemed  to  relive.  Where  had  she  heard  the 


246  RED  HORSE  HILL 

phrase?  And  why  did  a  new  pity  spring  at  sound 
of  them?  She  stopped  short  in  the  road,  for  Maris' 
wild,  imploring  eyes  seemed  to  stare  at  her.  It  was 
Maris  who  had  said:  "  Because  I  adore  him  I  have 
no  words  to  speak." 

"  Poor  soul,  —  poor  soul,"  whispered  the  girl,  and 
warm  tears  soothed  her  cheek.  Now,  more  than  ever 
was  Maris'  grief  her  own.  Love  gave  her  insight  and 
understanding." 

"  I  shall  tell  my  lover  everything,"  said  she  firmly, 
to  herself.  "  But  oh,  poor  Maris,  —  poor  Maris.  I 
tried  to  help  you  and  I  have  failed.  I've  made  things 
worse  for  you  and  Lisshy!  " 


CHAPTER   SIXTEEN 

LISSHY  FINDS  A  WAY 

THE  noon  hour  of  a  certain  springtide  Sabbath 
in  the  little  town  of  Sidon  was  destined  long  to  be 
remembered. 

In  the  history  of  the  Aldens'  private  family  it 
was  pivotal.  Not  only  was  Ruth's  happy  future 
then  determined,  but,  with  regard  to  Maris'  already 
desperate  affairs,  the  girl's  well-meant  efforts  at 
mediation  had  given  new  outlet  and  impetus  to  the 
powers  of  darkness. 

This  latter  aspect  of  the  hour,  however,  belonged 
to  the  eastern  slope  of  Red  Horse  Hill.  The  more 
communal  shock,  that  of  Dr.  Singleterry's  sudden  and 
dramatic  death,  lay  to  the  west,  and  shook  to  its 
core  the  wealthy  and  pretentious  element  of  the  town. 

It  chanced  that,  at  the  very  instant  in  which  Ruth, 
at  bay  on  the  verandah  of  the  overseer's  home, 
flashed  out  to  him:  "  Hush.  I  will  hear  no  more! " 
the  minister,  Dr.  Singleterry,  standing  in  the  chancel 
of  fashionable  St.  John's,  was  crying  aloud  through 
the  blinding  agonies  of  death:  "  In  the  name  of  the 
Father,  the  Son  and  the  Holy  Ghost!  " 

The  first  person  to  reach  the  stricken  man  was 
Maris  Alden.  No  one  quite  realized  how  she  had 
found  her  way  in  so  miraculously  short  a  space  of 
time,  but  she  was  kneeling  with  the  white  head 
pillowed  in  her  arms  before  the  half  paralyzed  vestry- 


248  RED  HORSE  HILL 

men  had  started  from  their  pews.  When,  at  last, 
they  came,  she  was  able  to  look  up  quite  calmly 
and  to  say:  "  He  was  my  father's  friend.  I  have 
known  and  loved  him  since  my  childhood." 

She  walked  beside  the  silent  form  as  it  was  con- 
veyed into  the  rectory;  and  suggested  to  the  bearers 
that  it  be  taken  up-stairs  to  the  usual  bed-chamber. 
When  left  alone  for  a  moment,  with  her  friend,  she 
bent  to  his  ear  and  whispered:  "  Don't  go  too  far 
away  just  yet.  You  are  free  to  aid  me  now.  Be 
my  great  strength  and  help." 

Even  in  the  first  terrible  instant  of  seeing  him  fall, 
Maris  had  felt  little  sense  of  shock.  The  words  of 
his  sermon  had  lifted  her,  already,  above  the  reach 
of  merely  personal  emotion;  and  this  tremendous 
climax  to  a  situation  already  overpowering  seemed 
a  thing  predestined,  —  something  that  God  had 
willed,  and  was  now  bringing  to  fulfilment.  Steadily, 
since  then,  a  feeling  of  strength,  almost  of  exaltation, 
had  been  growing  up  in  her  heart. 

When  Ruth  reached  home  and  was  told  the  in- 
credible news,  her  first  pang  was  for  Maris.  "  This, 
too,"  she  thought,  "  and,  in  addition,  I  am  bringing 
her  more  grief." 

She  went  to  the  rectory  at  once,  and  was  both 
astonished  and  relieved  at  the  calm  beauty  of  her 
sister's  face. 

Maris'  first  question,  when  they  were  in  the  street, 
was  for  Felicia. 

"  Physically,  she  is  doing  astonishingly  well," 
answered  Ruth.  "  If  only  —  "  She  paused  that 
Maris  might  have  time  to  realize  the  presence  of 
grave  doubt. 

"  Yes,  —  if ?  "  Maris  asked  quickly. 

"  If  only  we  can  find  a  way  to  protect  her  from 
human  fiends !  "  cried  Ruth  with  bitterness.  Then  she 


LISSHY  FINDS  A  WAY  249 

told  her  companion  of  the  hideous  experience  through 
which  she  had  passed,  and  her  conviction  that  Mc- 
Ghee  had  now  become  an  implacable  enemy. 

Maris  took  the  bad  news  quietly. 

"  I  fear  you  are  right  about  his  being  an  enemy," 
she  said  at  length.  "  He  will  surely  go  to  Which 
and  help  him  out  in  whatever  evil  schemes  that  he 
and  that  dreadful  Jane  are  planning." 

Ruth  gave  a  little  moan  of  self  deprecation. 

"  It  isn't  your  fault,  dear  Ruth,"  said  the  other 
on  the  instant,  and  tried  to  smile.  "  You  were  brave, 
—  wonderfully  brave  to  go  at  all;  and  I  thank  heaven 
that  nothing  worse  came  to  you  because  of  it.  But 
it  is  true  that  Felicia  is  in  danger  every  moment; 
and  we  must  think  quickly  if  we  are  to  save  her." 

"  I  told  it  all  to  Harvey,  —  to,  er  —  Dr.  Page," 
Ruth  corrected,  her  cheeks  flaming  at  the  slip.  "  I 
knew  that  you  would  not  care.  He  will  do  everything 
to  help  us." 

Maris,  sensitive  through  all  her  perplexity  to  the 
fluting  love  note  in  the  speaker's  voice,  turned  sud- 
denly, searched  the  girl's  downcast  face  with  bright- 
ening eyes,  and  then  cried  out,  as  if  in  triumph: 
"  Ruth,  Ruth!  at  least  one  joy  has  come  through 
this  distress." 

Ruth  lifted  her  head  and  returned  the  look  with 
shy  courage.  Maris  had  never  seen  her  eyes  so  sweet. 
"  You  have  no  words  of  condemnation  that  it  should 
come  by  such  a  path?  "  she  whispered. 

"  It  is  the  one  thing  on  earth  that  could  make  that 
path  less  hard  for  me,"  said  Maris  earnestly. 

"  Maris!  whatever  your  faults,  you  are  a  good, 
good  woman.  I  have  never  known  of  one  so  gener- 
ous! "  cried  Ruth  impulsively. 

"  I  am  a  very  weak  and  foolish  woman,  Ruth," 
said  the  other,  "  and,  just  now,  a  sorely  tormented 


250  RED  HORSE  HILL 

one.  Tell  me,  if  you  are  willing,  all  that  the  kind 
young  doctor  said,  and  what  he  thinks  possible  to 
be  done." 

By  this  time  they  were  at  the  door  of  the  Alden 
home.  "Thank  heaven!"  cried  Ruth,  as  they 
stepped  into  the  quiet  drawing-room;  "  here  we 
can  talk  freely! " 

Harvey's  plan,  and,  indeed,  the  only  course  that 
to  him  and  Ruth  seemed  practicable,  was  the  bold 
one  of  gaining  bodily  possession  of  Felicia;  and  to 
make  the  attempt  at  the  earliest  possible  moment. 
"  Don't  you  see  it  for  yourself?  "  asked  Ruth. 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  other,  still  quite  calmly. 
"  It  is  the  only  way.  But  how,  —  on  what  author- 
ity? " 

"  On  that  of  Harvey  as  physician  in  charge,  and 
also  by  virtue  of  directions  left  with  me  by  Dwight." 

At  the  mention  of  her  husband's  name,  Maris 
flinched,  and,  for  a  moment,  turned  away  her  face. 
When  she  spoke  it  was  in  a  low  voice,  not  altogether 
controlled.  "  It  seems  such  a  desperate  thing  to  do, 
even  if  it  is  the  only  one.  And  if  we  fail  —  oh,  if 
we  should  fail!  "  Ruth  saw  her  shiver  at  the  thought. 
"  Then,  if  we  should  succeed,"  the  speaker  went  on 
desperately,  "  where  is  there  that  she  could  go? 
It  can  not  be  here,  in  Dwight's  house." 

"  No,  Harvey  has  thought  of  all  that.  He  will 
take  her  as  his  patient,  to  Putnam's  Hotel.  To  think 
of  a  town  the  size  of  this  without  a  Sanatorium !  " 

Maris  clasped  her  hands.  A  look  of  great  relief 
softened  the  strain  on  her  face.  "  Oh,  you  are  so 
kind  and  thoughtful,  both  of  you!  This  is  the  very 
best  arrangement  that  could  be  made.  Perhaps,  — 
perhaps,  —  if  you  spoke  to  him  about  it,  Ruth,  — 
Dr.  Page  would  let  me  come  there,  too,  and  nurse 
my  baby." 


LISSHY  FINDS  A  WAY  251 

"  As  if  that  hadn't  been  the  very  centre  of  our 
scheming  from  the  first,"  cried  Ruth,  in  gentle 
mockery. 

Mans  could  only  stretch  out  a  grateful  hand.  She 
sat  silent  for  a  time,  choking  back  the  sobs  that 
rose,  one  by  one,  in  her  slender  throat.  When  she 
had  conquered,  she  still  sat  there,  staring  out,  with 
shining  eyes,  into  a  future  where,  at  the  worst,  she 
would  be  near  Felicia. 

Ruth,  watching  her,  felt  that  she  must  not  let 
assurance  go  too  far.  "  Of  course,  dear,"  she  said 
gently,  "  you  must  not  forget  that  the  situation  is 
acute  and  critical.  Even  if  things  go  as  we  are  hoping, 
there  must  be  some  complications.  The  Winches 
will  be  infuriated.  You  must  be  prepared  to  have  the 
whole  story  made  public !  " 

"Oh,  publicity,  gossip,  scandal!  What  are  they 
to  me,  when  Felicia's  very  life  is  at  stake?  "  cried 
Mans.  "  The  only  sorrow  they  can  give,"  she  added, 
"  is  in  the  reflected  disgrace  upon  —  your  brother,  — 
and  perhaps  you  may  feel  it  upon  you." 

"  I  do  not  believe  that  either  of  us  will  care  much 
about  this  part  of  the  tragedy." 

"  You  are  above  it  all,  dear  Ruth,  in  your  new 
happiness;  but  oh,  think  of  him,  —  of  Dwight!" 

"We  must  not!"  said  Ruth.  "We  can  afford 
to  think  only  of  what  gives  us  strength.  Now  to 
return  to  the  main  theme,  —  a  great  point  in  your 
favor  is  that  Winch,  —  I  prefer  to  keep  on  calling 
him  by  that  name,  —  has  sworn  falsely  to  the  child's 
birthplace,  age,  and  name." 

"  Yet  may  not  that  very  fact  bring  more  danger, 
now?  "  asked  Maris,  with  an  acuteness  which  aston- 
ished her  companion.  "  You  see,  the  false  swearing 
alone  would  make  him  anxious  to  get  out  of  this 
State  before  investigations  were  begun." 


252  RED  HORSE  HILL 

Ruth  found  no  words  for  the  moment;  nor  could 
she  altogether  conceal  the  expression  of  her  face. 
Maris  was  quick  to  catch  the  alarm. 

"  So  that  is  our  weak  point,  then,  as  well  as  a 
strong  one.  We  ought  to  act  at  once,  —  this  mo- 
ment. Why  do  we  have  to  wait?  Why  are  we  not 
starting  now?  " 

"  It  would  be  madness,  Harvey  said,  to  go  there 
by  daylight.  McGhee  will  have  been,  and  stirred 
the  Winches,  perhaps  the  neighbors,  too,  to  excite- 
ment. We  must  wait  quietly  until  dark,  and  then 
go  in  the  motor  car,  trusting  for  the  suddenness  of 
our  attack,  so  to  speak,  to  help  in  its  success." 

"  But  suppose,  before  dark,  they  have  taken  her 
away!  "  Maris  had  begun  to  wring  her  hands  silently. 

"  There  are  no  trains  on  Sunday  afternoon.  The 
first  one  is  at  seven  to-morrow.  There  is  no  other 
way  for  her  to  be  moved.  Even  McGhee's  venom 
would  not  go  to  the  length  of  parting  with  a  horse 
and  buggy." 

"  No,  perhaps  not,"  answered  Maris  doubtfully. 
"  Yet  I  wish  we  could  be  starting  now.  To  wait  is 
nothing  short  of  torture." 

"  Try  to  be  calm.  The  time  will  get  past  somehow," 
said  Ruth,  soothingly.  "  Look,  already  the  sun  is 
nearing  the  ragged  sky-line  of  Red  Horse  Hill." 

She  pointed  out  through  the  window  and  Maris, 
now  one  great  nerve  of  restlessness,  rose  and  walked 
to  it,  staring  outward. 

"  Yes,  the  sun  is  nearing  it,  but  when  it  gets  there 
the  trees  will  catch  it  like  a  kite.  It  will  never  go 
down!  Time  is  like  that  when  you  want  it  to  go 
fast!"  she  turned  back,  abruptly,  toward  Ruth. 
"  Where  is  he  now,  your  lover?  " 

"  He  went  back  to  the  hotel  to  make  preparations." 

"  Yes,  you  are  both  good,"  Maris  repeated,  almost 


LISSHY  FINDS  A  WAY  253 

as  if  she  were  talking  to  herself.  "  I  sha'n't  try  to 
thank  either  of  you  yet.  It  would  be  impossible. 
But  I  shall  not  forget! "  Again  she  was  silent,  her 
face  pressed  against  the  cold  pane  of  glass  that 
fronted  Red  Horse  Hill. 

Ruth  rose  and  joined  her.  "  Dear,"  she  asked 
gently,  "  wouldn't  you  like  to  be  alone  for  a  while?  " 

Maris  seemed  to  hesitate.  "  For,  to  speak  truly," 
Ruth  went  on,  "I  am  in  need  of  a  brisk  little  walk. 
Nothing  does  me  quite  so  much  good  at  a  time  like 
this,  —  and  I  won't  urge  you  to  come,  for  I  know 
you  never  walked  briskly  hi  your  life." 

"  Yes,"  said  Maris  in  answer  to  the  earlier  part  of 
Ruth's  speech,  "  I  think  I  would  like  to  be  alone,  — 
up-stairs." 

They  mounted  the  marble  stairs  together.  Ruth 
wished  to  make  some  slight  changes  in  her  toilet. 
As  she  started  down,  again,  she  called  out  to  Maris: 
"  Harvey  and  I  will  be  back  in  good  time  for  start- 
ing. If  he  calls  while  I  am  out  on  my  walk,  just  let 
him  wait  for  me  in  the  drawing-room." 

Maris  went  to  her  front  window,  the  one  from 
which  she  had  watched,  a  few  weeks  earlier,  the 
dreadful  dance  of  mill  children,  and  let  her  eyes 
follow  the  slender,  energetic  form  of  Ruth.  She  felt 
dimly  in  her  mind  the  half-shaped,  crowding  thoughts 
that  should,  by  rights,  belong  to  such  a  moment, 
but  nothing  came  very  clearly.  She  did  not  try  to 
rouse  the  reluctant  images,  being  thankful  for  the 
respite.  But  though  her  mind  continued  to  remain 
mercifully  torpid,  her  body  would  not  be  quiet  for 
an  instant.  From  chamber  to  chamber  she  wan- 
dered, gazing  now  from  one,  now  from  another  win- 
dow. The  afternoon  was  very  bright,  almost  un- 
naturaliy  so,  and  the  sun,  now  behind  Red  Horse 
Hill,  sent  up  a  great  fan  of  glittering  particles  that 


254  RED  HORSE  HILL 

hung  like  a  vivid  daylit  aurora  borealis.  There  was 
much  driving  and  walking  in  the  streets.  Happy 
young  people  passed  in  chattering  groups,  and  little 
families,  father,  mother  and  children,  the  latter  stiff 
and  self-conscious  in  their  Sunday  clothes,  added  to 
the  cheerful  scene.  Above  the  circle  of  reddish  light 
the  sky  was  blue  and  clear  as  the  petal  of  a  corn- 
flower. 

Then  all  at  once  a  new  warmth  and  stillness  fell 
upon  the  land.  Behind  the  hill  great  clouds  of  black, 
smoke  from  a  more  gigantic  factory,  rose  high.  The 
crimsoning  sunset  went  out  like  a  smothered  coal. 
A  wind  blew  suddenly  from  the  north-west.  People 
in  the  darkening  streets  turned  small  white  faces 
upward  and  hurried  home.  Apprehension  blew  in 
the  air,  and  the  cold  increased.  Maris  was  glad  of 
the  wind.  She  threw  a  western  window  wide  and 
leaned  far  out.  There  was  but  one  magnet  for  her 
now,  and  that  lay  the  other  side  of  the  hill.  She  leaned 
toward  it  still  farther.  A  strange  hissing  sound  grew 
in  the  rising  gale.  She  saw  the  comb  of  trees  bend 
from  her,  and  knew  that  on  the  tortured  crest  the 
Fates  carded  their  black  strands  of  destiny. 

Ruth  came  into  the  gate  alone,  her  skirts  tossed 
about  in  curves. 

"Maris,  —  Maris!"  she  cried,  almost  before  she 
had  gained  the  door.  Maris  hung  far  over  at  the 
top  of  the  stairway. 

"Yes!" 

"  Get  ready  at  once.  Harvey  is  at  the  garage  now, 
and  will  be  after  us  in  a  moment.  Shall  I  come  up 
and  help?" 

"  No,  —  I  have  been  ready  all  along." 

The  wind  caught  the  house  and  slid  around  it, 
shrieking.  The  old  wild  Maris  sprang  to  life.  This 
was  a  thing  to  do,  —  to  give  oneself  to  the  storm, 


LISSHY  FINDS  A  WAY  255 

and  let  the  very  frenzy  of  the  element  be  her  aid 
With  the  new  vitality  full  upon  her,  she  went  back 
for  her  last  look  at  her  husband's  room.  It  was  dark 
with  the  outside  storm,  and  stifling  with  detention 
of  more  heated  air.  Maris  turned  on  every  light  and 
stood,  looking  about  her.  Dwight's  toilet  articles 
had  been  taken  with  him,  but  his  slippers  were  there, 
thrust  a  few  inches  under  his  side  of  the  bed.  In 
the  closet  hung  an  overcoat  and  many  other  articles 
of  his  clothing.  She  opened  the  door  and  stared 
at  them,  tearless,  though  her  heart  beat  fast,  and 
she  felt  a  sort  of  impatient  agony  shiver  along  her 
limbs.  Softly  she  shut  the  door.  "  Good-by,"  she 
whispered,  as  if  to  living  things. 

Then  she  went  nearer  the  bed,  and  stood  looking 
down.  There  was  his  pillow.  She  could  fancy  the  long 
line  made  by  his  straight  figure  in  the  bed.  From 
underneath  it,  the  gay  slippers  grimaced  upward  at 
her.  Foolish,  embroidered  things  they  were,  made  by 
herself.  Though  her  husband  seldom  wore  them, 
not  having  yet  arrived  at  the  slipper  and  dressing- 
gown  phase  of  life,  he  always  insisted  on  keeping  them 
out  where  he  could  see  them.  How  many  centuries 
ago  had  it  been  since  she  had  known  the  gaudy  handi- 
work, —  secreting  it  when  Dwight  had  come  sud- 
denly into  the  room,  and  smiling,  when  alone,  at  the 
pleasure  she  knew  the  gift  would  bring?  And  even 
then  she  had  been  wronging  him  during  every  mo- 
ment of  their  life,  had  been  dishonoring  him  whom  she 
professed  so  to  love.  "  Yet,"  she  whispered  doggedly, 
"  it  was  love,  and  I  am  saying  good-by  to  it  forever." 
She  stared  a  little  longer,  dry-eyed,  at  his  pillow. 
"  God  help  you,  dear  love,  to  bear  the  shame  I  must 
give,"  she  said  aloud.  Then  she  turned  out  the 
lights. 

At  Ruth's  suggestion  she  had  packed  a  small  bag 


256  RED  HORSE  HILL 

of  clothing,  and  this  lay  ready  in  her  dressing-room. 
In  the  selection  she  had  taken  pains  to  choose  only 
the  plainest  articles.  A  battered  linen  picture-book 
that  had  belonged  to  the  baby  Felicia  lay  at  the 
bottom  of  the  bag.  She  now  opened  it  again,  and  after 
some  thought  took  off  her  wedding  ring  and  placed 
it  under  the  book.  The  plain  hat  and  long  green 
veil  were  already  adjusted.  She  caught  up,  now, 
her  jacket,  put  out  the  dressing-room  light,  and  hur- 
ried down  the  stairs.  Ruth  was  on  the  front  "  gal- 
lery," watching  alternately  the  curve  of  the  street 
from  whence  the  red  auto-car  was  to  come,  and  the 
black,  driving  clouds  above.  As  Maris  stepped  out 
the  swinging  corner  arc-light,  as  at  a  signal,  clicked, 
sputtered  and  broke  into  its  circle  of  hard  blue  light, 
and  the  red  car  came  full  toward  them. 

"  He's  brought  the  chauffeur!  "  gasped  Maris. 

"  If  he  did,  you  may  be  sure  he  had  reason,"  an- 
swered the  other  woman,  and  the  two  ran  down  to 
the  gate. 

As  Ruth  truly  said,  this  acceptance  of  a  fourth 
member  of  the  desperate  little  party  had  not  come 
about  easily.  Harvey  had  weighed  everything  and 
had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  too  much  depended 
on  the  perfect  running  of  the  car  to  risk  failure  there. 
Besides,  the  Frenchman's  assistance  might  be  needed. 
It  had  not  been  necessary  to  tell  him  more  than  the 
fact  of  the  sick  child's  condition,  and  his  belief  that 
she  would  die  unless  removed,  at  once,  from  her  pres- 
ent squalid  surroundings. 

Life  in  Sidon  had  not  appealed  to  the  light-hearted 
Frenchman  as  a  boon.  He  was  glad  for  this  break  in 
the  monotony. 

During  the  swift  ascent  of  Red  Horse  Hill,  Maris 
retained  her  outward  calm,  but  her  mind  moved 
in  torment  with  the  driven  clouds  above  her  and  the 


LISSHY  FINDS  A  WAY  257 

wind  which  shrieked  and  wailed  as  though  in  ele- 
mental protest  at  their  deed.  The  trees  on  the  sum- 
mit bent  far  over,  like  a  row  of  grain,  and  young 
leaves,  tattered,  drove  fragrance  into  the  night. 
There  was  a  groaning  and  creaking  of  the  trunks, 
and  the  frightened  squeak  of  branches  rubbed  into 
heat,  one  against  another.  The  wind  came  from 
the  west,  so  that  in  ascending  they  had  the  worst 
of  it.  Beyond  the  frenzied  forest  stretch,  compara- 
tive calm  prevailed.  In  many  of  the  village  houses 
there  were  lights,  and  these  could  be  seen  to  toss 
and  flare  in  the  sudden  gusts.  The  black  mill 
sat  in  a  swirling  cloud  of  wind.  Its  own  demons 
of  sound,  escaped,  worked  at  the  shivering  window 
frames  for  reentrance. 

"  The  storm  serves  us  a  good  turn,"  roared  Harvey, 
turning  backward  to  where  the  two  silent  women 
sat.  "  No  one  can  hear  the  car  in  such  a  gale." 

They  did  not  try  to  answer,  only  nodding  their 
heads  in  acquiescence,  but  a  few  moments  later 
Maris  leaned  close  to  Ruth's  ear.  "  There  is  no  lamp 
in  Lisshy's  window,"  she  said. 

"  Doubtless  it  has  blown  out,"  was  the  reassuring 
reply,  but  both  knew  that  the  words  were  futile. 
Instinctively  their  hands  clasped,  and  the  pressure 
of  each  was  hard  as  the  noiseless  car  began  to  slacken 
speed.  Maris,  unable  to  control  her  rising  excitement, 
sprang  up  and  leaned  between  Harvey  and  the 
chauffeur.  "  There,  —  there  —  "  she  cried,  pointing. 
"  That  is  the  cottage.  It  is  dark." 

"  Stop  at  the  side  of  it,"  was  Harvey's  low  order. 

They  came  to  a  standstill,  and,  as  yet,  no  one  of 
the  villagers,  apparently,  had  seen  the  car. 

Harvey  jumped  out  and  went  around  to  the  front 
steps.  Maris  would  have  followed,  but  Ruth  caught 
her  arm.  "Wait!"  she  said. 


258  RED  HORSE  HILL 

The  wind  dropped  all  at  once.  They  could  hear 
Harvey  stumbling  about  the  empty  rooms.  He 
lighted  a  match  and,  as  quickly,  smothered  it.  Now 
he  came  out,  leaving  the  door  wide,  and  in  the  in- 
tense silence,  climbed  back  to  his  place.  "  Return," 
was  the  one  word  he  spoke. 

Maris  and  Ruth  were  still.  They  knew  there  was 
nothing  to  be  said,  but  the  volatile  chauffeur  was  not 
to  be  so  easily  done  out  of  his  adventure.  "  Mon 
Dieu,  — •  but  the  leetle  seek  Mees.  Ou  est  1'en- 
fant?  " 

"  They  were  too  sharp  for  us,  —  she  is  already 
gone,"  said  Harvey. 

They  started  back  as  silently  as  they  had  come. 
After  a  while  Maris  withdrew  her  hand  from  Ruth's 
and  sank  more  heavily  against  the  leather  cushions. 

Ruth,  after  one  apprehensive  glance,  saw  that 
she  had  not  fainted,  and  she,  too,  leaned  back. 

When  they  reached  the  porte-cochere  of  Alden's 
home,  Maris  said,  gently  to  the  chauffeur:  "  Thank 
you,  Fernand.  Nothing  could  have  been  more  per- 
fect than  the  way  you  drove.  I  am  sorry  that  we 
failed." 

Only  one  light  had  been  left  burning  in  the  house. 
This  was  a  beautiful,  swinging,  oriental  lamp  in  the 
hall,  that  served  for  chandelier.  Maris  opened  the 
door,  and  in  the  low  radiance  perceived  a  telegram 
slipped  under  it.  She  opened  it  with  a  hand  that  did 
not  tremble,  and  read:  "  Will  be  with  you  by  ten 
to-night,  Dwight."  She  gave  it  silently  to  Ruth, 
who,  as  silently  read  and  passed  it  to  her  lover. 
He  read,  stared  from  one  white  upturned  face  to 
the  other,  read  again,  and  crumpled  the  yellow 
scrap  in  his  hands.  "  Good  God,"  he  cried  out. 
"  Let  somebody  say  something!  This  is  suffoca- 
tion! " 


LISSHY  FINDS  A  WAY  259 

Still  as  there  was  no  answer,  he  strode  forward 
to  the  electric  switchboard,  and  turned  on  all  the 
lights.  "  That  does  a  little  good,"  he  said,  almost 
hysterically.  "  And,  Mrs.  Alden,  I  am  going  on 
through  to  the  sideboard." 

Ruth  understood,  and  said  to  him:  "  Bring  some 
to  Maris,  too." 

Maris  did  not  seem  to  hear.  A  fold  of  the  old 
apathy  came  round  her.  She  wandered  in,  aim- 
lessly, and  stood  hi  the  centre  of  the  brilliant 
room,  looking  about  as  if  to  determine  where  she 
was.  Rich  color  was  all  about  her,  flowers,  the 
sparkle  of  cut  glass,  and  the  wide  flashing  of  many 
mirrors.  By  contrast  Maris,  in  her  plain  dress  and 
hat,  seemed  an  outsider.  Ruth  kept  close  to  her, 
but  Harvey  had  dashed  into  the  dining-room,  and 
now  returned  holding  a  glass  with  a  little  brandy. 
Maris  gazed  hard  at  him.  There  was  something  so 
strange  in  her  face  that  he  could  not  speak  before 
her,  or  make  the  conventional  proffer  of  the  stimu- 
lant. Both  he  and  Ruth  found  themselves  waiting, 
in  a  sort  of  shivering  apprehension,  for  her  words. 
They  were  commonplace  enough:  "Will  you  tell 
me  exactly  the  time?  "  she  said  to  him.  Harvey  set 
the  glass  down  on  the  nearest  table,  and  began  to 
take  out  his  watch,  glad  of  the  trivial  occupation. 
"  Just  three  minutes  to  ten,"  he  said,  with  affected 
ease. 

"  Then  I  must  go  at  once,"  she  said,  looking  around 
in  a  bewildered  way. 

The  troubled  eyes  of  her  companions  met,  but  nei- 
ther found  words  to  speak. 

"  I  must  go,  must  I  not?  There  is  very  little  time," 
she  went  on  in  a  shriller  key.  Then  she  half-closed 
her  burning  eyes,  and  put  her  hand  out  sidewise  as 
if  feeling  for  a  stronger  hand.  "  But  where  am  I  to 


260  RED  HORSE  HILL 

go?  I  have  no  money.  And  how  can  I  find  her  all 
alone?  " 

Ruth  thought  that  her  heart  would  break.  Who 
could  expect  to  keep  utter  tragedy  at  bay,  with  this 
white  face  of  Maris  luring  it?  The  girl  was  groping, 
blindly,  for  something  to  say,  when  a  sound  from  with- 
out caught  her  ear. 

"Hush!"  she  said  sharply,  "I  thought  I  heard 
a  child's  voice,  crying." 

Harvey  gave  a  great  start.  "It  is  only  the  wind. 
It's  thick  with  tortured  devils  to-night,"  said  he,  but 
his  head  was  bent  to  listen. 

"  It  is  a  child!  "  screamed  Ruth,  and  flying  to  the 
front  door  threw  it  wide. 

Lisshy,  with  her  last  quiver  of  superhuman  strength, 
reeled  into  the  hallway,  past  Ruth's  outstretched  arms, 
into  the  long  drawing-room,  and  straight  to  Maris. 
Maris  caught  and  held  her  and  at  the  instant  the  child 
lost  consciousness. 

But  for  the  moment  Maris  did  not  realize  this 
fact.  Now  her  head  went  backward.  Her  great 
eyes  blazed  fury  at  the  doorway.  There  was  no  enemy 
as  yet,  but  soon  Jane  Rumbough,  shivering  with  fear 
and  baffled  rage,  darted  in.  Harvey  threw  out  the 
barrier  of  his  arm,  and  Jane  clawed  at  him  like  a  cata- 
mount. "  Gimme  that  child,"  she  screamed.  "  That's 
my  child  and  Jim  Winch's.  We  knowed  you  was 
comin'  to  steal  her." 

"  There's  no  use  of  violence,  Mrs.  Winch,"  Harvey 
managed  to  say. 

"  What  do  you  know  about  it,  you  white-eyed 
Yank?  "  shrilled  the  woman.  "  I  say,  give  me  that 
child.  I'll  have  her  if  I  cut  that  woman's  heart  out 
to  git  her." 

Ruth  came  nearer  the  desperate  woman.  "  Leave 
this  house,"  she  said  sternly. 


LISSHY  FINDS  A  WAY  261 

"  It  ain't  your  house,  and  you've  got  no  more 
right  to  order  me  out  than  she  has,"  screamed 
Jane,  and  pointed  toward  the  still  silent  Maris. 
Suddenly  the  speaker  burst  into  harsh  derisive 
laughter.  "You  ain't  none  of  you  got  a  right!" 
she  repeated. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  concede  that  I  have  a  little," 
said  Dwight's  quiet  voice  in  the  doorway. 

Jane  wheeled  to  him,  dazed  by  the  unexpected 
sight,  then  again  her  raucous  laughter  tore  the 
room. 

"  You've  come  in  good  time,  Mr.  Alden,"  she  an- 
nounced. She  pointed  again  toward  Maris.  "  Do 
you  know  who  that  kid  is,  an'  who's  the  woman 
holdin'  it?  " 

"  That  lady  is  my  wife,"  said  Dwight,  coming  for- 
ward. "  I  suggest  that  you  remember  it.  Now  go." 

"  You  dare  send  me  off,  —  you  drive  me  from  your 
house,  —  you  —  '  shrieked  Jane,  now  in  a  frenzy. 
Alden's  clear  eyes  never  left  her  face.  "  Yes,  for 
your  sake  as  much  as  others,  you  had  better  go.  If 
you  have  difficulties  to  settle,  you  can  come  to  me  in 
person."  . 

This  evidently  impressed  his  listener.  She  stood 
still,  and  those  about  could  see  that  she  made  strong 
effort  after  self-control.  She  drew  her  red  lids  to- 
gether for  keener  scrutiny  and  after  a  pause  drawled 
out:  "  I  believe  you're  straight.  They've  kept  you 
outer  this  muck.  I'll  trust  you  to  do  the  square 
thing,  but  all  the  same  you  don't  lose  me  this  night 
unless  you  gimme  yo'  word  that  they  won't  be  any 
mo'  schemes  fer  carryin'  off  that  kid." 

Ruth  touched  her  brother's  arm.  "  Promise  her, 
Dwight." 

"  It's  fer  the  woman  thar  to  add  her  promise," 
said  Jane,  nodding  toward  Maris.  With  her  long  red 


262  RED  HORSE  HILL 

neck  and  sharp  features,  Jane  gave  a  ludicrous  simili- 
tude of  a  pecking  hen. 

"  I  promise,"  said  Maris,  distinctly. 

For  the  first  time  Dwight  Alden  seemed  to  falter, 
but  in  an  instant  his  head  was  up  again.  "  Then 
go,"  he  said  to  Jane,  and  as  she  sidled  out,  let  his  gaze 
follow  her. 

"  Thank  heaven!  "  cried  Harvey  Page  aloud,  "  and 
now  it's  up  to  me." 

He  went  over  swiftly  to  Maris,  taking  the  child 
in  his  arms.  Ruth  was  at  his  side.  "  Go  up  to  my 
room  with  her,"  said  Ruth.  Harvey  was  moving  for- 
ward, when  Maris,  reaching  out,  caught  a  fold  of  the 
child's  ragged  skirt  and  clung  to  it.  "I  can't  be 
sent  away  from  Lisshy,  —  I  can't,  —  I  can't,"  she 
moaned. 

In  the  horrible  silence  that  followed,  Dwight  alone 
had  power  to  rally.  Even  before  he  spoke  he  felt 
the  cold  of  a  great  tragedy  around  his  heart.  Yet  he 
spoke  quietly. 

"  Is  there  any  reason  why,  because  a  sick  child  is 
brought  into  my  house,  I  should  leave  it?  "  he 
asked. 

It  was  Ruth  who  answered  desperately:  "  There  is, 
Dwight.  We  are  all  in  a  most  terrible  situation,  but 
the  child  must  be  seen  to  now." 

He  tried  to  look  again  at  Maris,  to  catch  her  eye, 
but  she,  cowering  down  beside  Lisshy,  only  moaned 
again:  "  Don't  send  me  away  from  her.  Don't 
send  me  away." 

"  Ruth,  —  Ruth,  —  "  cried  out  the  man,  and  the 
first  note  of  agony  was  in  his  voice.  "  Whose  child 
is  that?  " 

"  It  is  Maris'  child,"  sobbed  Ruth. 

Harvey,  with  his  limp  burden,  was  at  the  door. 
He  turned  backward  a  blanched  and  pitying  face. 


LISSHY  FINDS  A  WAY  263 

"  I  suggest,  Mr.  Alden,  that  you  go  to  the  hotel  and 
ask  for  my  room.  I'll  join  you  there  within  an  hour." 
Dwight  turned  and  walked  with  his  usual  deliberate 
stride  down  the  long  room  and  out  through  the  open 
door.  This  he  shut  carefully,  with  no  sound  of  haste 
or  excitement.  By  the  time  the  gate  was  reached, 
Lisshy  lay  upon  Ruth's  immaculate  bed,  and  of  the 
three  who  bent  above  her,  only  one  had  thought  for 
the  exiled  master. 


CHAPTER  SEVENTEEN 

A  MORE   SUCCESSFUL  BARGAIN 

THE  mill  village  slept  heavily,  taking  its  final 
draught  of  oblivion  before  the  week's  first  herald 
shriek  of  whistles.  The  little  town  of  Sidon,  curving 
the  western  slope  and  hollow  of  Red  Horse  Hill, 
slept,  too,  all  but  the  epileptic  arc-light,  and  four 
tense  human  souls,  three  of  whom  watched  about  the 
bedside  of  a  child  whose  frail  rill  of  life  now  ran,  now 
died  away,  until  scarcely  a  hint  of  moisture  in  the 
sand  gave  evidence  of  the  immortal  fluid. 

The  fourth  soul,  held  motionless  in  its  tortured  clay, 
sat  in  a  darkened  room  of  the  town  hotel,  and  stared 
out  before  it,  not  thinking,  not  even  trying  to  think, 
only  possessing  itself  dully  until  the  first  agony  of  a 
hideous  wound  should  begin  to  fade.  Harvey  did 
not  return  to  his  room  within  an  hour.  Lisshy's 
illness  was  too  serious,  but  before  the  scream  of  the 
Regina's  whistle,  the  child's  battle  with  death  was 
over,  and  the  young  physician  could  whisper  to  the 
wan  women  that  there  was  hope. 

"  Then  go  to  Dwight  at  once,"  said  Ruth,  and 
with  trembling  hands  pushed  him  toward  the  door. 
He  went  obediently,  but  in  a  short  time  re- 
turned. "  Alden  will  hear  nothing  from  my  lips,"  he 
said. 

Maris  turned  her  dull  eyes  from  the  child. 

"  Does  he  want  Maris?  "  questioned  Ruth. 


A  MORE  SUCCESSFUL  BARGAIN     265 

"  No,  he  refuses  to  hear  her  name.  No  one  is  to 
be  admitted  but  you,  Ruth." 

"  Then  I  will  go,"  said  Ruth,  rising. 

"And  I,"  added  Maris.  "That  is,"  she  con- 
tinued, turning  with  inquiring  looks  to  Page,  "  if 
the  doctor  is  not  to  leave  Felicia." 

"  I'll  stop,  you  may  be  sure,"  said  Page,  in  a  trou- 
bled way;  "  but  really,  Mrs.  Alden,  you  are  merely 
submitting  yourself  to  unnecessary  suffering.  You 
will  not  be  received." 

Maris'  reply  to  this  was  a  tremulous  smile  in  the 
direction  of  Ruth.  The  latter  nodded  as  if  to  a  signal, 
and  the  two  hurried  out. 

Harvey  sighed  as  he  took  his  place  by  the  bed. 
Lisshy  was  heavy  with  drugs,  but  her  pulse  was 
good.  Here  was  no  immediate  anxiety,  and  the 
young  man  fell  to  pondering  the  events  of  the  last 
few  days.  His  lips  smiled  as  he  thought  of  the 
strength  and  goodness  of  the  woman  who  was  his. 
Gradually  sleep  overcame  him,  and  he  nodded  peace- 
fully beside  the  sleeping  child. 

Never  had  the  night  clerk  at  Putnam's  known  of 
such  goings  on!  It  was  bad  enough  for  men  to  be  in 
and  out,  moving  with  stealthy  feet  and  ashen  faces 
through  the  hours  when  all  decent  people  were 
asleep;  but  now,  in  the  coldest,  grayest  hue  of  the 
morning,  before  the  sun  had  turned  his  red  cheek  to 
the  world,  two  veiled  women  crept  into  the  dim  vesti- 
bule, and  seeking  him,  demanded  the  way  to  room 
No.  30  on  the  second  floor.  He  directed  them,  of 
necessity,  and  then  made  a  pretence  of  waiting  to 
hear  them  knock  and  see  them  enter,  but  that  is  just 
what  they  were  hi  no  apparent  haste  to  do.  They 
moved  down  the  corridor,  some  feet  away  from  the 
door  of  No.  30,  and  the  tall  woman  put  her  arms 
around  the  smaller,  speaking  to  her  in  a  voice  so  low 


266  RED  HORSE  HILL 

that  the  night  clerk  could  not  hear  a  word.  Then 
the  tall  lady  caught  sight  of  him,  and  motioned  him 
away  with  an  imperious  gesture,  so  that  he  had  no 
choice  but  to  leave. 

The  elevator  at  Putnam's  never  worked  until 
seven  o'clock.  It  was  now  barely  six.  So  the  clerk 
went  sullenly  down-stairs  on  foot,  knowing  that  he 
was  to  see  nothing. 

Scarcely  was  he  on  the  stairs  when  Ruth,  alone, 
went  up  to  the  door.  "  Dwight,  are  you  there?  " 
she  whispered. 

"  Is  it  you,  Ruth?    Yes,  I  am  here." 

Ruth  glanced  up  at  the  glass  transom.  "  The  room 
is  very  dark." 

"  Yes,  the  room  is  dark." 

She  turned  the  door-knob  gently.  "  Your  door  is 
not  locked.  I  am  coming  in." 

"  Come,"  said  Dwight.     "  I  am  sitting  in  a  chair." 

The  two  shadows  glided  in.  One  closed  the  door 
softly,  and  then  shot  the  bolt. 

Dwight's  armchair  was  quite  in  the  centre  of  the 
room.  The  back  was  to  the  door.  At  first  his  vis- 
itors could  not  see  him,  for  he  was  bowed  far  over, 
his  head  on  both  his  hands. 

Just  beyond  him  the  one  window  of  the  room  stood 
wide  to  the  dawn,  a  square  gray  canvas  with  pallid 
light  spread  on  it  evenly. 

"  Dwight,  dear  brother,"  said  Ruth,  laying  her  hand 
upon  his  shoulder.  "  Some  one  has  come  with  me." 

As  if  the  words  had  burned  him,  Dwight  sprang 
to  his  feet,  looking  about  angrily.  "  You  have  gone 
too  far,  Ruth.  I  will  not  see  her.  Didn't  Page  tell 
you  —  " 

"  Yes,  —  he  repeated  it  all.  I  knew  you  would 
be  angry.  But  it  is  Maris'  right  to  tell  you  the 
truth." 


A  MORE  SUCCESSFUL  BARGAIN     267 

"  The  truth!  My  God!  "  said  the  man  and  threw 
his  head  back  with  a  sound  meant  for  a  laugh. 
"  What  does  she  know  of  truth?  " 

"  Nevertheless  I  shall  speak  truth  and  nothing 
else,"  said  Maris,  in  a  voice  so  clear,  so  colorless,  that 
her  listeners  could  scarcely  recognize  it.  The  man 
glared  at  her,  but  she  did  not  shrink.  "As  Ruth 
has  said,  it  is  my  right,  also  my  greatest  punishment, 
to  tell  you  every  thing." 

"  Maris,  Maris,"  he  burst  out  in  a  wrench  of  agony, 
"they  said  it  was  your  child, — your  child!  —  and 
you  my  wife." 

Maris  shivered  a  little,  but  her  voice  was  still 
calm.  "  Are  you  to  listen,  Dwight?  And  may  Ruth 
leave  us  for  a  little?  " 

Ruth  pulled  at  her  sleeve.  "  I  think  perhaps  it  is 
not  the  best  time  to  speak,"  she  whispered.  "  He  is 
almost  beside  himself." 

"  It  cannot  go  on  a  moment  longer,  not  a  second," 
answered  Maris,  aloud.  "  The  time  is  now.  For 
my  own  sanity,  if  not  his,  I  must  speak  now!" 
For  the  first  time  a  hint  of  frenzy  was  in  her 
voice. 

"  Leave  us,  Ruth,"  said  Alden. 

Ruth  turned  to  Maris.  "  I  still  advise  against  it, 
but  if  it  must  be  —  "  she  gave  a  little  gesture  of  de- 
spair, then  spoke  in  a  more  normal  tone.  "  I  shall 
be  waiting  for  you  outside  in  the  corridor.  I  shall 
see  that  you  are  not  disturbed." 

Maris  nodded,  scarcely  hearing.  Her  one  desperate 
wish  was  to  get  Ruth  from  the  room,  and  to  cast  from 
her  own  fainting  soul  the  burden  it  had  borne  so 
long.  Scarcely  was  the  door  closed  before  she  stag- 
gered up  to  Dwight,  heaping  the  facts  before  him  as 
an  executioner  heaps  fagots  at  a  stake.  In  a  calmer 
moment  she  might  have  been  checked  by  the  frozen 


268  RED  HORSE  HILL 

expression  of  his  face,  which,  in  the  brightening  day, 
grew  every  instant  more  hard  and  set.  But  the  out- 
burst had  become,  for  her,  primarily  one  of  necessity. 
She  could  not  weigh  the  effect  of  her  words.  He 
spoke  but  once  throughout  her  narrative,  a  flagella- 
ting phrase,  lashing  her  when  she  dared  to  hint  of  her 
continued  devotion  to  himself.  "  Spare  me,  at  least, 
that  depth."  From  that  moment  she  knew  there  was 
no  hope.  She  was  already  a  thing  condemned,  de- 
spised, and  her  very  presence  was  contamination. 
Still  she  went  on,  desperately,  and  when  she  had 
finished,  said:  "  Now  you  know  everything,"  and 
threw  her  hands  wide  in  a  gesture  of  utter  abnega- 
tion. 

The  man  made  no  reply.  By  this  time  he  was  look- 
ing bored.  He  stepped  to  the  door  and  put  his  hand 
out  to  open  it.  The  miserable  woman  gave  a  cry  of 
protest,  and  stared  up  at  him.  Was  this  to  be  her 
last  look  at  his  face?  "  I  am  going  away,  forever, 
just  as  soon  as  the  child  can  be  moved,"  she  cried. 
"  I  am  going,  never  to  trouble  you  again." 

Dwight  bowed  stiffly,  as  if  to  say  that,  of  course, 
she  was  to  go,  no  other  plan  being  possible.  He 
turned  the  knob  and  held  the  door  open. 

"  Won't  you  say  just,  —  good-by,  —  for  the  sake 
of  what  I  have  been?  " 

"  I  have  never  known  you  before,"  he  said.  "  Con- 
sequently we  have  had  no  past  together,  you  and  I." 

At  that  she  left  him,  reeling,  and  he  held  his 
breath  until  he  knew  that  she  was  safe  in  Ruth's  arms. 
Then  he  slammed  the  door,  locked  it,  and  began  hours 
of  that  caged  pacing  up  and  down  that  all  strong  men 
in  agony  have  known. 

Harvey  gained  admittance  to  him  later,  but  Alden 
checked  any  expression  of  concern  by  the  hoarse 
words:  "  You're  a  good  fellow,  Page,  but  no  one  can 


A  MORE  SUCCESSFUL  BARGAIN     269 

help  me  in  this  ditch.  I  must  win  out  alone  or  not 
at  all." 

"  That  beast,  Winch,  is  in  a  pretty  bad  fix,"  ven- 
tured the  young  man,  and  tried  to  speak  nonchalantly, 
lounging  against  the  window  frame.  But,  without 
seeing,  he  knew  the  fury  of  the  other's  face  as  Alden 
cried  out:  "I  have  no  interest  whatever  in  Winch 
or  in  his  family.  Now  will  you  kindly  leave  me." 

Perhaps,  during  the  hideous  day  that  followed, 
Alden  was  the  one  who  suffered  most.  Shut  to  him- 
self in  a  strange  room,  refusing  food  and  drink,  he 
battled,  without  pause.  His  chief  demons  were  those 
of  shame  and  wounded  love.  As  Ruth  had  said,  he 
was  a  proud  man.  That  any  one  should  have  dared 
so  to  deceive  him  was  enough  for  a  lifelong  bitter- 
ness; but  that  the  traitor  should  have  been  his  wife, 
his  joy,  his  one  delight,  —  this  outrage  was  almost  too 
much  for  Heaven  itself  to  dare.  In  between  the 
moments  when  he  must  writhe  and  sting  with  this 
sense  of  degradation,  would  come  more  subtle  visions 
of  torturing  thought  that  Maris,  —  his  wife,  —  had 
once  been  the  wife  of  such  a  beast  as  Winch,  and  was 
the  mother  of  a  half-starved  mill  brat.  No  thought 
of  pity  for  Maris  had  yet  come  to  him.  He  was  not 
a  man  who  cared  for  children,  or  had  an  intuitive 
sympathy  with  the  passion  of  mother-love. 

Caged  with  a  living  nightmare,  shut  off,  by  his  own 
stern  will  from  human  aid  or  sympathy,  Dwight 
fought  his  fight  alone. 

With  the  others,  Maris,  Ruth  and  Page,  there  was 
too  much  to  be  done  for  isolated  anguish.  Not  only 
did  Lisshy's  new  access  of  fever  and  the  inevitable 
wrenching  of  an  arm  already  terribly  inflamed  require 
constant  attention,  but,  as  Dr.  Page  had  said  to  Alden, 
Winch  was  in  danger.  Sorely  against  the  will  of  the 
man,  Harvey,  the  physician,  Page,  was  using  his  best 


270  RED  HORSE  HILL 

skill  to  rescue  the  creature  whose  death  would  have 
been  the  one  great  boon  for  all. 

The  story  of  Lisshy's  flight,  as  gathered  from  the 
somewhat  incoherent  utterances  of  Jane  and  her  sick 
husband,  was  this.  Buck  McGhee  had  come  to  them 
offering  to  help  them  in  any  plans  against  the  Aldens. 
With  his  aid  and  through  his  influence  they  had  re- 
moved Lisshy,  just  at  the  first  threat  of  the  storm, 
carrying  her  in  McGhee's  spring  buggy  down  to  an 
empty  freight-car  then  standing  near  the  mill.  Buck 
promised  them  that  within  a  very  few  hours  a  freight- 
train  would  be  passing,  and,  by  a  code  of  signals  known 
to  him  and  all  the  engineers  on  that  branch  of  the 
road,  he  would  have  this  empty  car  attached,  and 
the  family  safely  conveyed  into  another  state.  In  the 
meantime  no  one  would  think  of  looking  for  Lisshy 
in  a  freight  car. 

The  child,  it  appeared,  had  made  bitter  protest, 
but  was  finally  cowed  into  silence. 

All  had  gone  as  Buck  foresaw.  In  less  than  an 
hour  a  freight-train,  driven  by  one  of  Buck's  particular 
friends,  swept  down  the  valley,  and  Lisshy's  car  was 
quickly  attached.  It  was  not  until  a  certain  crossing 
on  the  railroad  to  the  west  of  Red  Horse  Hill,  and 
nearer  the  residence  portion  of  Sidon,  that  the  first 
check  had  taken  place.  Buck  was  by  this  time  back 
in  his  cottage,  well  pleased  with  his  most  recent  act 
of  villainy. 

The  rising  storm  shrieked  through  the  wistaria 
and  rose  vines  of  his  porch,  and  howled  along  the  car- 
tracks  in  the  valley,  where  the  freight-train  reluc- 
tantly came  to  a  halt,  being  flagged,  and  warned  to 
side-track  for  a  special.  The  night  was  densely 
black,  and  the  car  where  the  ill-assorted  little  family 
group  hid,  was  unlighted,  even  by  a  candle.  Martin, 
who  boasted  that  he  could  sleep  through  judgment 


A  MORE  SUCCESSFUL  BARGAIN     271 

day  if  only  he  was  let  alone,  now  snored  in  a  corner. 
Jane,  too,  must  have  been  nodding,  for  a  sudden 
apprehension  made  her  waken  and  call  out,  "  Lisshy !  " 
There  was  no  Lisshy.  Jane  began  feeling  about  the 
car  with  outstretched  hands.  Martin  woke  up, 
cursing,  but  was  soon  on  his  feet,  aiding  the  search. 
Lisshy  was  gone,  and  Jane  knew,  by  instinct,  where 
she  would  flee  for  shelter. 

The  "  Special  "  rattled  past  them,  and  by  its  flash- 
ing lights  they  could  see  a  road  into  the  city.  They 
both  crawled  from  the  car,  reaching  the  earth  just 
as  the  long  train  began  again  to  move.  They  had 
started  Sidon-ward  together,  but  in  the  first  hundred 
yards  the  man  had  given  out,  falling  heavily  beside 
the  road,  and  roaring  out  to  Jane:  "  Keep  on  after 
that  damned  kid."  He  would  wait  for  them  exactly 
where  he  was. 

When  Jane  had  finished  her  futile  errand  she  went 
back,  to  find  him  unconscious.  With  some  of  the 
money  given  her  by  Maris  on  her  first  visit,  she 
secured  a  conveyance  from  the  Sidon  livery-stables, 
and  carried  him  back  to  their  hovel  in  Red  Village. 

She  did  not  get  a  message  to  Dr.  Page  until  next 
day,  and  all  through  the  night  had  nursed  the  man 
through  spasms  of  delirium. 

In  his  first  examination  Page  thought  the  man's 
condition  practically  hopeless.  Disease  and  cheap 
liquor  had  about  done  their  work.  He  thought  it 
more  merciful  to  tell  Jane  the  facts,  for  the  woman 
evidently  still  loved  the  wreck  she  called  her  husband. 
She  took  the  statement  calmly,  making  the  one  sneer- 
ing remark:  "  I  reckon  ef  he  did  die,  none  o'  you-all 
would  lose  yo'  eyesight  cryin'  over  him." 

After  a  pause  in  which  she  had  been  gazing  down 
steadily  upon  Winch's  mottled  and  unconscious  face, 
she  asked:  "  How  long  do  you  give  him  at  the  most?  " 


272  RED  HORSE  HILL 

Page  was  glad  to  return  to  professional  bounds. 
"  That's  rather  difficult  to  say,  offhand.  If  he 
weathers  this  spell  and  could  have  first-rate  care  —  " 
The  woman  looked  up  inquiringly.  "  By  care,"  he 
explained,  "  I  mean  constant  nursing,  good  food,  and, 
above  all,  a  change  of  climate.  He  might  live  for 
months,  —  possibly  longer." 

Jane's  face  took  on  a  crafty  eagerness.  "  Mout 
hit  be  even  fer  a  year  or  mo',  —  two  years,  —  three?  " 
she  questioned. 

"  Possibly,"  answered  Harvey,  with  truth,  and  was 
ashamed  of  the  way  his  heart  sank.  "  But  remember 
it  would  mean  not  only  the  best  of  nursing,  but,  after- 
ward, to  keep  him  away  from  liquor." 

She  did  not  seem  to  hear  the  last  words;  she  had 
begun  to  gaze  again,  broodingly,  on  the  upturned  face. 

"  Good  nussin'  means  a  pile  er  money,"  she  mur- 
mured. 

"  It  does  indeed,  and  then,  remember,  no  more 
whiskey." 

"  That's  the  hardest  job  yet,"  she  said.  "  Ef  Jim 
was  well,  an'  easy  in  his  pockets,  it  'd  be  the  devil 
an'  all  to  keep  him  outer  barrooms." 

Harvey  turned  toward  the  door.  He  had  no  inten- 
tion of  interesting  himself  in  Winch's  moral  regenera- 
tion. "  I've  done  all  that  I  can  for  him,"  said  the 
young  man.  "  Perhaps  I  can  look  in  again  before 
night." 

Jane  followed  him  to  the  door.  A  purpose  seemed 
to  grow  visible  in  her  lean  face.  "  Here,  hold  on  a 
minute,"  she  called  to  him;  "  I  want  to  ast  a  ques- 
tion. Whar's  that  Mr.  Alden  to-day?  " 

Harvey  frowned,  at  which  a  sort  of  smile  flickered 
across  Jane's  lips.  "  You  heerd  him  tell  me  las'  night 
to  hunt  him  up  to-day,  didn't  you?  " 

"  Look    here,"    said    Harvey,    wheeling    about, 


A  MORE  SUCCESSFUL  BARGAIN     273 

"  there's  no  use  trying  any  blackmailing  on  Mr.  Al- 
den.  He  won't  stand  for  it." 

"  Did  I  require  any  lawyer's  advice?  "  she  retorted. 
"  I  ast  you  the  plain  question,  whar's  Mr.  Alden?  " 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  answer.  The 
woman  was  evidently  determined  to  have  her  way. 
"  He  is  at  Putnam's  Hotel,"  said  Page,  and  went  down 
the  steps. 

"  Well,"  called  the  woman  after  him,  "  you  jes'  say 
to  Mr.  Alden  that  Mis'  Winch  will  be  down  to  see  him. 
I  think  I  got  somethin'  to  say  that  he'll  like  to  hear." 

Harvey  drove  off  hi  the  hired  buggy,  going  directly 
to  the  stable  from  which  it  had  come.  He  walked 
thence  to  the  hotel,  moving  slowly.  The  visit  to  the 
Winches'  cottage  had  left  a  most  unpleasant  impres- 
sion, something  that  soiled  his  mind  to  think  of,  yet 
which  persisted.  He  was  undecided  whether  or  not 
to  attempt  to  deliver  Jane's  message  to  Mr.  Alden. 
Perhaps  he  had  better  ask  advice  of  Ruth.  For  the 
first  time  he  hoped  that  Alden  would  still  refuse  to 
see  him. 

As  he  entered  the  marble  vestibule  of  "  Putnam's," 
the  genial  day  clerk  called  out,  "  Hello,  Doctor. 
There's  a  message  for  you  from  Mr.  Alden.  Wants 
you  to  have  lunch  with  him  in  his  room." 

Harvey's  mouth  twisted  with  the  irony  of  it,  yet, 
as  far  as  Alden  was  concerned,  the  news  was  good. 
Returning  reason  hi  a  man  is  always  accompanied 
with  a  desire  to  eat.  The  young  physician  made  his 
way  at  once  to  room  No.  30. 

Dwight  had  made  a  careful  toilet.  His  brushes 
and  a  few  half  soiled  collars  lay  on  the  cheap  oak 
dresser.  As  Harvey  entered  he  was  just  putting  a 
correct  point  to  his  last  finger  nail.  His  face  was 
still  ashen  pale,  and  heavy  purple  circles  rimmed  his 
eyes.  Yet  he  had,  unmistakably,  the  air  of  a  man 


274  RED  HORSE  HILL 

who  had  fought  with  powers  of  darkness,  and  had 
won. 

"  Beastly  den,  this,"  he  said  over  his  shoulder,  as 
his  guest  entered.  "  I've  been  wondering  how  you 
stand  it,  day  after  day." 

"  Chiefly  by  spending  most  of  my  waking  hours  at 
your  house,"  laughed  Harvey.  There  was  a  menu 
card  lying  on  the  table,  and  this  he  now  took  up. 
"  Well,  what  are  we  to  have?  "  he  went  on,  with  a 
little  more  heartiness  than  was  necessary:  "  Vermi- 
celli Soup,  —  Red  Snapper  a  la  Creole,  —  that's  de- 
cent, I've  tried  it.  Broiled  steak,  —  run  if  you  see  it 
coming.  Cold  ham,  —  that's  always  eatable;  and 
there's  one  thing  about  this  joint,  —  they  can  make 
coffee! " 

"  It  all  sounds  good  to  me,"  returned  Alden. 
"  Suppose  I  ring  and  you  order." 

He  seated  himself  opposite  Harvey,  and  looked 
squarely  at  him.  There  was  something  so  clear,  and 
at  the  same  time  so  deep  hi  the  steady  gray  eyes, 
that  a  thought  came  to  Harvey:  "No  wonder  the 
poor  little  woman  is  half  mad  at  losing  him,"  and  then 
a  second  thought:  "  But  how  did  she  dare  to  trifle 
with  such  a  force." 

"  I'm  glad  to  have  you  here,  old  man,"  Alden  was 
saying.  "  The  truth  is  I  have  had  a  bit  too  much 
of  my  own  society." 

"  Does  wear  a  bit  on  a  chap,  you  knaw,"  returned 
the  other,  with  a  most  affected,  plushy  English  accent. 
Both  men  laughed,  and  Alden  in  his  heart  was  touched 
and  grateful  for  the  kindly  fooling. 

During  luncheon  they  spoke  of  the  most  ordinary 
topics,  Alden  giving  a  witty  account  of  his  recent 
adventures  among  some  congressmen  at  the  capital. 
The  discussing  of  mill  reforms  was  a  safe  ground  for 
both. 


A  MORE  SUCCESSFUL  BARGAIN     275 

"  I've  become  convinced,"  said  Alden,  "  that  a 
great  number  of  these  so  called  abuses  can  be  stopped, 
not  only  without  eventual  loss  of  percentage,  but  with 
definite  increase.  But  things  move  slowly  down 
here.  You  can't  do  everything  at  once.  As  one 
old  reb  remarked:  'God  A'mighty  kain't  drive  six 
horses  abreast  through  one  small  door,  but  a  fool  can 
shoo  'em  in  one  at  a  time.'  So  we've  decided  to 
'  shoo  '  the  biggest,  —  that  of  apprenticing  children 
under  legal  age." 

"  But  an  age  limit  law  already  exists,  doesn't  it?  " 
said  the  other. 

"  Yes ;  it  isn't  the  law,  it's  the  difficulty  of  enforcing. 
If  all  millowners  would  personally  see  to  this  part  of 
it,  this  particular  cause  of  blame  would  soon  cease." 

"  But  there  must  have  been  some  opposition,  — 
there  always  is,"  said  Page. 

"  Oh,  plenty  of  it,  —  and  the  opposing  point  of 
view  is  working  strongly  in  congress,  especially  where 
some  of  the  congressmen  are  stockholders  in  mills. 
They  contend  that  the  children  are  better  off  working 
than  running  wild,  and  that  the  country  people  won't 
move  into  the  villages  unless  children  can  be  put  to 
work  to  help  out  the  family  income.  It  does  seem  as 
if  there  were  some  pretty  awful  parents  down  here." 

"  Yes,  I've  noticed  it,"  said  the  other,  and  relapsed 
into  silence.  Dwight  drew  out  his  cigarette  case, 
lighted  a  small  tube,  and  leaned  back  in  his  chair. 
Page  did  not  smoke.  For  a  long  time  both  men  were 
wordless,  but  each  knew  of  what  the  other  thought. 

Page  determined  to  change  the  vibrations.  He 
leaned  forward  on  the  table,  and  the  heightening  of 
color  in  his  smooth  cheeks  made  him  seem  younger 
and  more  boyish  than  ever.  "  Say,  Alden,  I  must  de- 
liver a  message,  —  no,  not  from  your  wife,"  he  ha- 
stened to  say,  in  response  to  a  kindling  glance  across. 


276  RED  HORSE  HILL 

the  table.  "It  is  from  that  harpy  who  was  in  your 
house  last  night." 

Alden's  face  had  instantly  resumed  its  indifferent 
calm.  He  now  took  out  his  cigarette,  again,  flipped 
off  the  end  with  care,  and  remained  gazing  at  the  glow- 
ing dot  of  fire  for  so  long  an  interval  that  Harvey 
finally  jogged  him  with  the  remark:  "  You  said  some- 
thing about  her  looking  you  up,  you  know." 

"  Yes,"  said  Alden,  "  I  recall  my  words  clearly. 
What  does  she  want?  " 

"  To  call  here  upon  you,  and  have  her  say  out. 
She  hints  that  she  has  some  information  that  you  will 
want  to  get." 

"  I'll  see  her  when  she  comes,"  said  Alden,  and 
leaned  back  with  the  air  of  one  who  dismisses  an  un- 
pleasant topic. 

"  Thank  the  Lord  that's  dropped,"  cried  Harvey 
fervently.  "  Now  there's  something  else,  —  oh,  don't 
frown,  —  it's  still  a  different  pair  of  shoes.  It's  about 
your  sister,  and  —  er,  —  well  to  be  frank,  —  and 
yours  truly."  Harvey's  blushes  would  have  done 
credit  to  a  schoolgirl.  "  Will  it  be  indelicate  for  me 
to  speak  of  it  just  now?  " 

"  Why  should  it  be  more  inappropriate  now  than  at 
another  time?  "  answered  Dwight,  his  face  softening 
to  a  smile.  "  Fire  ahead,  —  though  of  course  I  know 
already." 

"  Well,  it  is  so!  "  said  Harvey,  ambiguously,  but 
with  delight.  "  I  can  hardly  believe  it  yet.  It's 
too  good  to  be  true.  But  she  has  said  '  yes.'  And 
now,  if  you  feel  all  right  toward  it  —  " 

Alden  put  his  hand  out,  and  the  young  man  seized 
it  in  both  of  his,  nearly  overturning  a  coffee  cup  to 
do  so.  *'  I'm  the  luckiest  chap  on  earth !  "  he  vaunted. 

"  Yes,  you  are  lucky,"  said  the  other,  thought- 
fully, "  Ruth  is  a  woman  incapable  of  deceit."  The 


A  MORE  SUCCESSFUL  BARGAIN     277 

sudden  pain  in  the  dark-rimmed  eyes  hurt  Harvey 
like  a  blow.  Because  he  could  do  nothing  else  he  rose, 
still  holding  Alden's  hand,  and  saying:  "  You  won't 
mind,  I  know,  if  I  hurry  off  to  her.  The  luncheon 
was  thoroughly  enjoyed." 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  said  Alden  to  the  earlier  part 
of  his  sentence.  "  And  Page,  as  you  go  out,  please 
say  to  the  clerk  that  I  would  like  something  in  the 
nature  of  a  sitting-room  or  private  parlor  on  this  same 
floor.  I  can't  receive  the  woman  here." 

Again  left  to  himself,  Alden  began  his  pacing  up 
and  down,  but  this  time  it  was  the  steady  measured 
stride  of  thought,  not  the  inconsequent  hurtling  of  a 
wounded  animal. 

He  was  a  good  judge  of  character  in  men,  and,  until 
this  dreadful  event,  had  thought  himself  capable  of 
reading  women  also.  Yet  now  he  had  failed  to  know 
the  creature  nearest  him  and  best  beloved.  This  had 
done  much  to  shake  his  self-confidence,  but  had  not 
altogether  destroyed  it.  He  tried  to  bring  together, 
as  a  whole,  what  facts  of  the  case  he  knew,  treating 
the  matter  as  impersonally  as  his  wounds  would  allow. 
Maris  he  believed  to  have  spoken  absolute  truth  to 
him,  so  far  as  she  knew  the  truth.  She  may  have  left 
things  unsaid,  but  what  she  had  uttered  dripped  with 
the  waters  of  truth.  Jane  and  Winch  were  beings  of 
another  world.  It  was  more  than  possible  that  they 
were  in  possession  of  facts  of  which  Maris  had  not  a 
suspicion.  Some  such  information  it  must  surely 
be  Jane's  wish  to  sell.  He  found  himself  waiting  with 
impatience  for  the  woman's  coming. 

When  finally  she  appeared  and  he  noted  that  she 
had  not  taken  the  slightest  pains  to  disguise  her  pro- 
fession or  her  poverty,  and  that  she  entered  the  tawdry 
"parlor"  a  room  to  her  inevitably  palatial,  with  a 
lofty  indifference  to  its  splendors,  something  like  re- 


278  RED  HORSE  HILL 

spect  for  her  barren  pride  rose  up  in  him.  The  ever- 
present  snuff-stick  protruded  from  a  corner  of  her 
discolored  lips,  and  her  pale  eyes  met  his  with  steadi- 
ness. 

"  Will  you  be  seated?  "  he  said,  as  to  a  lady,  and 
put  forward  a  chair.  When  she  had  taken  it  he  drew 
another  near.  "  Dr.  Page  told  me  that  you  had  some- 
thing of  importance  to  say,"  he  began. 

"  You'll  find  it  important  enough,  I  reckon." 

"  I  must  warn  you,  before  beginning,"  he  said,  in 
the  same  ordinary  tone,  "  that  you  must  not  speak 
familiarly  or  disrespectfully  of  my  wife,  —  of  Mrs. 
Alden." 

Jane's  faded  eyes  gave  him  a  look  in  which  both 
defiance  and  admiration  gleamed.  Then  she  an- 
swered drily:  "  I'll  remember.  I  was  her  servant 
wunst." 

He  waited  for  her  next  words,  but  these,  apparently, 
were  difficult  to  fashion.  With  her  eyes  still  on  him 
she  let  her  hands  creep  up  to  her  flat  chest,  and  remain 
there.  Dwight  thought  he  heard  the  faint  rustle  of 
paper. 

"  Have  they  told  ye,  —  have  they  told  ye,"  she 
demanded,  "  that  Jim  Martin's  like  to  die?  " 

"  No.     I  wished  to  hear  nothing  of  him." 

"  Well,  you'll  listen  now.  He's  sick,  and  he  might 
have  died,  —  but  he  won't  die  now.  I'll  see  to  that. 
Don't  you  count  any  too  heavy  on  his  dyin'." 

Alden's  nostrils  twitched.  "  It  is  not  of  the  slight- 
est interest  to  me  whether  he  lives  or  dies." 

"  Well,  it  is  to  me,"  she  retorted  angrily.  "  Sorry 
ez  he  is,  he's  all  I  got.  I  giv'  up  as  much  to  him  as 
any  fine  lady  has  got  to  give.  He  is  not  to  die  jes' 
in  the  nick  of  time  fer  you  an'  —  her!  " 

Dwight  gave  a  gesture  of  disgust.  "  You  said 
you  had  something  of  importance,"  he  suggested. 


A  MORE  SUCCESSFUL  BARGAIN     279 

"  I'm  comin'  to  that!  I'm  comin'  to  that,"  said  the 
woman,  her  excitement  rising  steadily.  "  But  you 
got  to  tell  me  first,  whether  you  love  her  yet,  — 
whether  you'd  pay  to  have  her  yourn  again,  with  all 
this  mess  wiped  out!  " 

"  Have  you  no  sense  at  all?  "  cried  the  man 
fiercely.  "  I  told  you  not  to  speak  of  her."  Out  of 
his  white  face  his  eyes  burned  like  torches. 

The  woman  laughed  shrilly  and  beat  upon  the  table 
with  her  lean  hands.  "  You  love  her  fast  enough," 
she  triumphed.  "  Oh,  she's  that  kind!  Once  she 
gets  in  your  heart  you  kin  no  more  dig  her  out  than 
you  kin  dig  the  wick  from  a  lamp  and  leave  it  burnin'. 
It's  so  with  'em  all.  Even  if  you  hate  her  and  do  her 
wrong,  you  can't  ferget.  Why,  even  that  Winch 
who  lef '  her  - 

Dwight  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  struck  at  a  chair  so 
fiercely  that  it  went  over  with  a  crash. 

"  Leave  this  room,"  he  commanded. 

But  Jane  only  laughed  again,  an  acid  sound,  and 
crouched  down  close  to  the  table.  Triumph  glit- 
tered in  her  eyes.  "  You  love  her!  You  love  her!  " 
she  taunted.  "  It's  yo'  love  an'  yo'  pridefulness  that's 
been  lockin'  horns  together.  Now  ef  I  could  tell  you 
something  that  could  ease  yo'  pridefulness—  "  she 
paused,  watching,  —  her  tone  suspended. 

After  a  brief  struggle  he  turned  his  face  to  her. 
"  What  is  it  that  a  creature  like  you  could  tell  that 
would  alter  the  fact  of  her  marriage,  or  change  what 
I  have  been  these  five  years  past."  He  closed  his 
eyes  for  an  instant,  overcome  by  a  sudden  wave  of 
shame,  and  whispered:  "  I  who  have  believed  myself 
an  honorable  man!" 

"  It's  jes'  that  pint  whar  maybe  I  kin  help,"  Jane 
answered  eagerly.  "  Supposin',  —  now  jes'  sup- 
posin',  mind  you,  —  that  I  could  prove  you  had  been 


280  RED  HORSE  HILL 

her  husband  all  along,  an'  she  herse'f  didn't  know." 
She  threw  her  hands  out  with  a  gesture  meant  to 
check,  and  cried  shrilly:  "  But,  min'  you,  I  said  jes' 
supposin'!  " 

Alden  stood  very  still.  At  last  he  had  seized  a  clue 
to  the  woman's  secret.  His  quick  mind  ran,  like  fire, 
across  a  field  of  possibilities,  but  in  the  midst  of  the 
heat  he  stood  erect  and  calm,  and  heard  himself  ask- 
ing, in  a  professional  voice:  "  Do  you  wish  me  to  infer 
that  something  in  the  nature  of  a  divorce  was  pro- 
cured, secretly,  against  my  wife?  " 

Jane's  terror  flared.  "  No,  I  don't,"  she  screamed. 
"  An'  don't  you  dare  to  say  I  told  you!  I  didn't  say 
a  thing  of  that  sort;  I  only  ast  you, '  supposin'.' ' 

Dwight  waited  for  her  excitement  to  fade.  "  I 
wish  to  take  no  advantage  of  you,  Mrs.  Winch,"  he 
said  quietly,  "  if  you  have  anything  you  wish  me 
to  know  I  will  wait  patiently  until  you  have  spoken 
in  your  own  way.  You  may  trust  me,  absolutely." 

Jane  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  her  eyes  darting  fur- 
tive, searching  looks  at  him,  her  thin  hands  twist- 
ing and  intertwisting  in  her  lap.  She  still  shivered 
with  the  fear  of  having  betrayed  too  much.  Her  next 
words  showed  a  supreme  effort  for  self-control. 

"  Suppose,  then,  that  such  a  thing  as  you  jes'  said, 
had  been  done.  Mind  you,  I  ain't  sayin'  yet  that  it 
has,  —  but  efn  it  had,  and  it  was  legal  and  bindin' 
all  right,"  here  again  one  clawlike  hand  went  up  to 
her  breast,  "  how  much  would  it  mean  to  you  in  dol- 
lars and  cents?  " 

Dwight  considered  for  a  long  moment.  "  If  such 
a  paper  is  to  be  bought,"  he  said,  "  I  will  give  for  it, 
in  cash,  five  thousand  dollars." 

Jane  caught  her  breath.  "  Five  —  thousand  — 
whole  —  dollars!  "  she  breathed.  The  wages  of  her 
best  days  had  sometimes  reached  the  splendid  height 


A  MORE  SUCCESSFUL  BARGAIN     281 

of  one  dollar  and  sixty  cents.  Now  that  she  was  be- 
ginning to  go  blind,  her  day's  work  seldom  reached 
a  dollar.  She  had  faced  disgrace  and  poverty  and 
cruel  overwork  without  comment,  but  now  at  the 
thought  of  what  seemed  to  her  untold  wealth,  her 
nerves  threatened  to  collapse.  Dwight  watched  the 
twitching  face  with  compassion. 

"  Five  thousand  dollars,"  she  whispered,  as  if  in 
awe.  "  An'  ef  Jim  lived  jes'  one  year,  how  much 
would  that  be  for  every  day?  " 

"  Somewhere  about  twenty-five  dollars." 
"  Twenty-five  dollars  to  count  on  fer  every  day," 
she  murmured,  in  the  same  awestruck  tone.    Then  she 
roused  a  little.     "  Supposin'  he  lived  two  years,  that 
would  make  it  come  to  jes'  half  of   twenty-five,  - 
twelve  an'  a  half.    Why,"  she  cried,  her  eyes  bright- 
ening,   "  even    ef  we    both  lived  three   years,   it 
would  come  to  somethin'  like  eight  dollars,  wouldn't 
it?" 

Alden  could  only  nod.  A  strange  stinging  was 
under  his  lids.  There  was  something  heartbreaking 
in  this  tremulous  calculation  for  life,  in  a  woman  al- 
ready near  the  point  of  human  endurance.  And  after 
all,  her  chief  thought  was  for  the  man  who  had  dragged 
her  down.  No  slime  of  sin  could  take  away  all  dig- 
nity from  such  fidelity. 

"  Well,"  said  Alden  gently,  "  do  you  agree?  " 
"  Yes,"  cried  Jane  instantly,  "  though  Jim  Winch 
tries  to  kill  me  fer  it,  I  agree!  "  She  thrust  her  hand 
into  the  front  of  her  calico  gown,  and  dragged  forth 
a  dingy  and  discolored  envelope.  This  she  flung  upon 
the  table,  with  the  announcement:  "  It's  a  dy-vo'ce. 
I  made  him  git  it  out  thar  when  my  baby  was  a-comin'. 
It's  straight  enough.  Nob'dy  kin  fight  it  but  her- 
sef,  an'  she  won't  need  to  do  that,  now  she's  stole 
Lisshy." 


282  RED  HORSE  HILL 

Alden  took  up  the  paper  with  a  thrill  of  loathing 
mixed  with  his  well  suppressed  excitement.  He 
looked  intently  at  the  thing  for  a  moment,  and  then, 
without  opening,  flung  it  down  to  the  marble  slab 
of  the  table. 

"  Ain't  you  goin'  to  read  it?  "  asked  the  woman, 
amazed. 

"  No,  I  believe  what  you  have  said.  But  tell  me, 
how  is  it  that  after  he  had  secured  this  release  from 
her,  the  man  Winch  still  wished  her  to  think  him 
dead?  " 

For  the  first  time  the  woman's  eyes  fell.  "  Well, 
I  don't  know  jes'  how  it  come  about  myself.  My  little 
kid  died,  an'  I  suppose  I  wanted  to  keep  a  tight  hold 
on  Lisshy.  Then  Jim  fell  to  drinkin',  an'  in  his  cups, 
he  used  to  rail  at  Maris,  —  Miss  Maris,  —  "  she  cor- 
rected herself,  "  an'  he  seemed  to  want  to  get  her  into 
trouble  by  marryin'  again,  thinkin'  him  dead  an'  not 
knowin'  of  the  paper." 

"  That's  of  little  importance  now,"  said  Alden,  with 
a  gesture  of  repulsion.  "  But  there  is  just  one  more 
question,  —  are  you  certain  that  she,  —  my  wife,  — 
knows  nothing,  and  has  never  known  about  the  exist- 
ence of  this  paper?  " 

"  What's  that  to  you  now?  "  said  Jane  sharply. 
"  A  bargain  is  a  bargain.  I'd  like  what  cash  you  kin 
spare." 

"  Oh,  I  have  plenty  to  give  you,"  said  the  man  a 
little  wearily.  "  You  need  not  fear  being  cheated. 
There's  more  than  a  hundred  in  this  roll,"  he  said, 
taking  a  roll  of  bills  from  his  pocket  and  tossing  it 
across  the  table.  "  And  I  will  write  you  a  check  be- 
fore you  leave." 

Jane  snatched  at  the  green  cylinder  of  bills.  Her 
gaunt  fingers  fumbled  at  the  rubber  band  about  them. 
Finally  she  gave  up  the  task,  and  looking  squarely 


A  MORE  SUCCESSFUL  BARGAIN     283 

at  Alden,  said  to  him,  "She  does  know  about  the 
paper  now.  Jim  took  it  to  her  house,  thinkin'  to 
strike  up  a  bargain." 

"  Ah,"  said  Dwight,  and  the  exclamation  was  a 
breath  of  pain.  This  was  the  one  thing  Maris  had 
not  told  him.  "  Did  Winch  make  the  same  propo- 
sition to  her  that  you  have  made  to  me?  " 

"  He  tried  to,  but  she  wouldn't  let  him  git  very  far. 
She  said "  -  Jane  hesitated,  and  the  crafty  look 
came  back  to  her  face. 

"  Go  on,"  said  Alden.    "  Here's  my  check-book  —  " 

"  You're  plum  sure  it  won't  make  no  difference  in 
our  bargain?  " 

"  Absolutely.    You  have  my  word  of  honor." 

"  She  said  that  no  paper  could  make  any  diff'unce, 
ez  long  ez  Winch  lived.  That  she  keered  too  much  fer 
you,  to  go  on  bein'  your  wife." 

Dwight  had  hard  work  to  keep  his  voice  from  sha- 
king. "  You  are  sure  she  knew  the  paper  to  be  legal, 
—  that  Winch  had  got  a  divorce  before  she  ever  mar- 
ried me?  " 

"  Winch  even  offered  to  give  up  Lisshy  without  a 
word,  if  she'd  give  in,"  Jane  answered  evasively. 

"  She  refused  that,  too." 

"  Yes,  she  said  she  keered  too  much." 

Alden  rose  to  his  feet  and  walked  the  length  of  the 
narrow  room.  Jane  had  untied  the  roll  at  last,  and 
was  busy  counting  bills.  Now  she  rose  also.  "  This 
here's  enough  to  begin  with,"  she  announced.  "  I'll 
come  back  when  this  is  spent." 

"  Yes,  —  and,  —  thank  you  for  your  confidence," 
said  the  man  at  the  far  end  of  the  room.  His  voice 
was  curiously  muffled.  Jane  stood  looking  at  his 
averted  figure.  Her  faded  eyes  almost  twinkled, 
then  a  more  human  look  crept  into  them.  "  I  don't 
wonder  that  the  poor  thing  loves  him/'  she  said  to 


284  RED  HORSE  HILL 

herself.    At  the  door   she  paused  again.     Alden's 
attitude  had  not  changed. 

"  Well,  good-by,  Mr.  Alden,"  she  called  out. 
Then  she  added,  and  her  voice  was  almost  tender; 
"  You  cain't  dig  her  out!  'Taint  no  use  to  try  it." 


CHAPTER  EIGHTEEN 

A   MESSAGE 

ALDEN  went  slowly  back  to  the  little  bedchamber, 
Room  30,  which  was,  at  present,  the  sole  property  and 
the  personal  abode  of  Harvey  Page.  Alden  had  not, 
as  yet,  taken  in  this  fact.  But  for  his  bath  and  a 
freshening  of  his  toilet  at  the  noon  hour  there  had  been 
for  him  no  thought  of  the  outward  formulae  of  material 
existence. 

Now  finding  himself  in  surroundings  which,  al- 
ready, had  begun  to  acquire  a  faint,  hideous  familiar- 
ity, he  went,  by  a  sort  of  instinct,  to  the  armchair 
facing  the  one  window,  the  spot  where  he  had  sat 
in  torment  throughout  the  preceding  night.  A  more 
imaginative  man  would  have  likened  it  to  one  of 
those  torture  chairs  lined  with  spikes  into  which 
mediaeval  offenders  were  forced.  Dwight  chose  it 
now  partly  because  of  its  suggestion  of  familiarity, 
but  chiefly  because  it  was  comfortable. 

A  loathsome  object  was  held  loosely  in  his  left  hand. 
He  knew  that  he  must  read  the  thing,  poring  over  each 
phrase  for  a  hidden  flaw,  and  his  very  eyes  felt  sick 
with  the  task  before  them.  He  glanced  down  once 
at  the  paper,  gave  a  small  shudder  of  disgust,  and 
threw  it  backward  to  the  table,  letting  it  lie  as  it  had 
chanced  to  fall.  He  sat  on  in  the  dark  a  little  longer, 
nerving  himself  to  the  performance. 

It  had  been  said  of  Alden  among  northern  asso- 


286  RED  HORSE  HILL 

ciates  that  in  making  of  himself  a  fine  business  man 
he  had  spoiled  a  better  lawyer.  All  forms  of  law 
attracted  him,  and  the  litigations  of  his  firm  had  al- 
ways been  under  his  direct  supervision.  He  knew  that 
one  careful  reading  of  the  paper  he  had  bought  would 
convince  him  of  its  futility  or  of  its  worth.  Jane's 
belief  in  its  value  he  could  not  doubt;  nor  indeed,  for 
himself,  was  there  any  appreciable  mistrust  that  it 
would  prove  both  valid  and  efficacious.  Still,  in  such 
a  matter,  he  must  be  sure,  and  it  was  a  proof  of  his 
overwrought  state  of  mind  that  he  had  been  willing 
to  agree  to  the  bargain  without  demanding  previous 
examination. 

After  an  interval  he  rose,  went  to  the  window  and 
pulled  down  the  two  sets  of  shades.  After  a  nervous 
twitch  to  bring  the  cheap  lace  curtains  closer,  he 
recrossed  the  room,  searching  for  the  electric  switch- 
board. This  he  had  not  needed  to  use  before.  A 
hard  glare  from  unshaded  electric  bulbs  flooded,  at 
his  touch,  the  tawdry  room.  He  drew  a  straight 
chair  to  the  table,  opened  the  paper,  and  began  to 
study  intently.  A  second  reading  followed.  After 
a  few  moments  more  of  brooding  he  returned  the 
document  to  its  envelope,  rose,  walked  to  the  switch- 
board to  extinguish  the  light,  and  found  his  way 
again,  through  darkness,  to  the  big  chair. 

The  paper  had  revealed  no  flaws.  Sordid  and  re- 
volting as  such  a  thing  of  necessity  must  be,  it  was, 
in  legal  standing,  unimpeachable.  The  man  had  pro- 
cured a  divorce  from  Maris  on  the  ground  that  she 
had  deserted  him,  refusing  to  live  longer  as  his  wife. 
No  mention  was  made  of  little  Felicia.  Had  Maris 
known  at  the  time  of  this  move  against  her,  she  could 
easily  have  attacked  and  overcome  the  decree,  but 
that  the  victim  should  be  kept  in  ignorance  had  been, 
evidently,  the  chief  desire  of  the  Winches  and  their 


A  MESSAGE  287 

lawyer.  At  any  rate  it  was  now  clear  that  Marls 
had  been  a  free  woman  when  she  had  become  his  wife, 
three  years  before,  and  this  fact,  in  itself,  was  enough 
to  turn  threatened  disgrace  into  security. 

The  prodding  spikes  of  the  torture  chair  melted 
one  by  one.  There  were  still  a  few  knotty  excres- 
cences, such  as  the  problem  of  Felicia's  future,  and 
the  dark  memory  that  Maris  had  deceived  him; 
but  Dwight  began  to  feel  that  these  could  be  endured. 
Silence  he  had  already  purchased.  The  world  at 
large  need  never  know  that  Felicia  were  other  than 
an  ordinary  mill  child  whom  Maris'  charity  had  led 
her  to  adopt.  For  the  final  and  most  vital  issue, 
he  was  still,  as  he  had  always  been  since  their  marriage, 
Maris'  husband  in  the  law,  as  well  as  through  the  bonds 
of  a  deep  and  passionate  affection.  There  need  be  no 
further  thought  of  separation  from  the  woman  he 
loved. 

The  woman  he  loved!  The  phrase  blew  dreamily 
across  his  consciousness,  and  for  the  first  moment 
since  he  entered  Putnam's  door,  his  lips  felt  as  if 
they  tried  to  smile.  A  later  vision  arose,  the  face  of 
the  gaunt,  pathetic  servant  woman  from  whom  he 
had  parted  so  recently.  Again  he  heard  her  drawling 
words:  "  You  cain't  dig  her  out!  " 

"  That  is  true  enough,"  he  said  aloud,  and  this 
time  his  lips  achieved  their  smile. 

Strangely  enough,  in  all  this  readjustment  of  recent 
events,  the  visit  that  Maris  and  his  sister  Ruth  had 
forced  on  him  at  dawn  played  practically  no  part. 
It  was  later  that  he  had  begun  to  gain  self-mastery. 
When  he  strove  to  recall  the  interview,  he  found  the 
scenes  distorted  in  a  haze  of  crimson  mist,  shot 
through  with  flashes  of  sharp  pain.  He  realized  now 
that  he  had  been  beside  himself,  and  felt  more  than 
a  vague  uneasiness  as  to  his  own  behavior.  Yet 


288  RED  HORSE  HILL 

Maris,  he  felt,  would  forgive  him  any  impetuous 
cruelty.  Had  she  not  often  said  that  he  could  do 
nothing  which  she  would  not  forgive? 

For  an  hour  he  sat  on,  planning,  rearranging,  de- 
ciding, and  steadily  he  felt  himself  increase  in  confi- 
dence. When,  about  nine,  Harvey  came  in,  Dwight 
had  already  relighted  the  glaring  bulbs,  and  was 
reading  a  newspaper.  He  sprang  up  at  the  young 
man's  knock,  and,  as  he  entered,  called  out  heartily: 
"  Glad  you  are  back,  old  man!  I  want  you  to  help  fix 
me  up  in  a  room  of  my  own ;  one  with  a  private  bath 
and  sitting-room,  if  possible." 

Harvey  had  taken  a  light  supper  with  Ruth; 
but,  nevertheless,  Dwight  insisted  upon  claiming  him 
as  his  guest  at  a  second  repast.  Wine  was  ordered, 
and  whatever  delicacies  the  hotel  and  the  season  could 
be  brought  to  yield. 

At  first  the  conversation  moved  through  a  medium 
of  faint  embarrassment;  but,  after  his  good  dinner 
and  irreproachable  cigar,  Dwight  flung  aside  conven- 
tion, and  yielded  to  the  rare  luxury  of  a  confidential 
talk.  To  all  Harvey  listened  with  a  quiet  sympathy 
that  did  much  to  enhance  the  elder  man's  incipient 
liking.  The  account  of  the  interview  with  Jane, 
and  the  purchase  of  the  paper,  brought  out  the  im- 
pulsive remark:  "  By  George!  and  to  think  how  long 
they  have  deliberately  kept  the  poor  little  woman  in 
ignorance! " 

"  I  have  always  said  that  our  hodgepodge  divorce 
laws  were  a  disgrace  to  civilization,"  Dwight  said 
thoughtfully,  after  a  pause.  "  But  in  this  one  case 
good  seems  to  have  come  from  evil." 

The  young  physician  puffed  away  at  the  luxury 
of  a  perfect  Havana.  At  length  he  asked:  "  And 
Martin,  when  he  went  to  your  house,  tried  to  bribe 
Mrs.  Alden  with  this  same  paper?  " 


A  MESSAGE  289 

"  As  I  understand  it,  he  did  not  display  the  docu- 
ment, or  even  get  to  the  point  of  making  a  full 
proposition.  Why,  the  Winch  woman  in  her  inter- 
view with  me  fenced  for  five  minutes  before  she  would 
admit  the  existence  of  the  paper.  Both  she  and  her 
wretched  husband  are  well  aware  of  its  value,  you  may 
be  sure."  Here  the  speaker's  lips  came  tightly  to- 
gether, and  his  smooth  jaw  squared.  His  brows  drew 
downward  so  that  he  scowled  as  he  went  on,  angrily: 
"  I  can  fancy  just  what  sort  of  threats  and  innuendoes 
the  brute  employed.  Such  a  woman  as  Maris  was, 
of  course,  powerless  either  to  understand  or  to  protect 
herself.  She  knows  no  more  of  law  and  base  human 
nature  than  an  infant  in  arms.  Every  one  can  im- 
pose upon  her,  and  it  is  certain  that  those  Kansas 
lawyers  she  picked  up  were  low-browed  shysters  of  the 
worst  variety." 

"  Yes,"  said  Harvey  gently,  "  it  has  been  some- 
thing like  breaking  a  butterfly  upon  a  wheel.  I  am 
thankful  that  things  are  coming  out  all  right  for  her 
at  last." 

The  other's  face  had  softened  with  the  name  and 
at  the  thought  of  Maris.  "  I  am  going  to  try  my  best 
to  make  it  up  to  her,"  he  said  in  a  low,  almost  a  caress- 
ing voice.  "  I  shall  even  try  to  tolerate  Winch's 
child.  A  man  couldn't  do  much  more  than  that!" 

"  No,"  answered  Harvey  slowly,  "  I  suppose  he 
couldn't!  "  Then  as  the  other  glanced  upward  he 
added,  somewhat  abruptly:  "  When  do  you  expect 
to  speak  with  Mrs.  Alden?  " 

"  In  the  morning,  —  just  as  early  as  possible." 

"  Dr.  Singleterry's  funeral  is  at  eleven,"  said  Page, 
"  and  they  are  sending  his  body  on  by  the  twelve 
o'clock  passenger  to  Orbury,  North  Carolina." 

Alden  nodded.  "  Yes,  I  supposed  they  would. 
My  wife  was  a  child  in  Orbury." 


290  RED  HORSE  HILL 

"  Of  course  Mrs.  Alden  feels  his  death  keenly,  espe- 
cially at  a  time  like  this,"  Harvey  went  on.  "  To 
tell  you  the  truth,  she  is  in  a  frightfully  overwrought 
nervous  condition,  and  had  better  not  be  excited  any 
more  just  yet.  Suppose  you  put  it  off  a  bit,"  he  sug- 
gested, tentatively. 

"  Put  it  off!  Until  when?  "  said  Alden,  frowning. 
"  It  doesn't  seem  to  me  that  delays  are  in  order  just 
at  present.  Good  God,  man!  "  he  burst  out,  as  the 
other  hesitated,  "  don't  you  see  it's  a  matter  of  ta- 
king us  both  off  the  rack?  I'll  wait  until  to-morrow 
afternoon,  then,  at  six.  You  mustn't  expect  any 
more  from  me.  Please  give  Maris  that  message  — 
to-morrow,  at  six  precisely,  —  in  my  study."  With 
the  last  words  he  had  risen,  and  now  began  an  im- 
patient pacing  up  and  down. 

Page  sat  on  stolidly.  Suddenly  the  other  paused 
beside  him,  put  a  strong,  nervous  hand  upon  his  unre- 
sisting shoulder,  and  shook  him  with  pretended  fe- 
rocity. "  Here,  banish  those  solemn  looks !  "  he  cried, 
trying  to  laugh  naturally.  "  I  tell  you  I  know  what 
is  best  for  me  and  Maris.  It  wouldn't  be  right  to  her 
to  accept  delay.  You  will  take  my  message?  " 

Harvey  got  to  his  feet  with  some  deliberation.  "  I 
still  think  that  waiting  would  be  best,"  he  began. 
"No,  don't  glare  at  me!  I'll  give  up  my  opinion. 
I'll  take  the  message." 

Excitement  filled  the  air  of  Sidon:  and  gossip,  its 
necessary  consequence,  buzzed  as  aimlessly  as  snow- 
mist  on  a  windless  day. 

The  sudden  death  of  Dr.  Singleterry,  the  seizing 
of  the  injured  Winch  child  from  her  parents,  the  dis- 
appearance of  Buck  McGhee;  and,  by  Dwight  Alden, 
the  open  abandonment  of  his  home,  bore,  to  the 
popular  mind,  more  than  a  hint  of  interdependence. 


A  MESSAGE  291 

There  were  blocks  enough  to  build  with  and  yet,  in 
spite  of  untiring  effort,  the  parts  refused  to  fit.  Dr. 
Singleterry's  dramatic  death  following  his  impas- 
sioned arraignment  of  child-labor  might  have  stirred 
the  two  Alden  women  to  a  spasm  of  remorse  which 
found  outlet  in  the  rescue  of  an  injured  child;  and 
Mr.  Alden  might,  naturally  enough,  have  disapproved 
and  shown  in  this  way  his  protest.  These  parts  of  the 
problem  fell  into  place.  But  why  should  Buck  Mc- 
Ghee  have  disappeared;  and  what  was  the  cause  of 
the  sudden  illness  of  the  man  Winch?  Some  of  the 
mill  whisperers  had  it  that  Dr.  Page,  the  young  New 
York  physician,  obviously  in  love  with  Ruth  Alden, 
had  forced  an  entrance  to  Winch's  cottage  and  beaten 
the  man  into  insensibility.  Others  knew  that  this 
was  untrue,  for  they  had  seen  the  Winches,  with  the 
sick  child,  drive  off  in  Buck  McGhee's  buggy.  And 
why,  if  there  was  warfare  between  the  Winch  and 
Alden  factions,  should  the  young  physician  be  coming 
to  attend  Winch? 

The  social  element  of  Red  Village  not  being,  either 
by  birth  or  training,  capable  of  controlling  curiosity, 
had  shamelessly  plied  Jane  with  questions.  Mill- 
workers,  usually  reliable,  had  "  knocked  off  "  this 
Monday,  only  that,  according  to  their  version  of  the 
case,  they  might  "set  a  spell  with  Miss  Winch,  an' 
help  her  nuss  Jim."  But  Jane,  narrowing  her  faded 
eyes,  had  repelled  all  advances. 

The  fashionable  contingent  of  Sidon,  dwellers  be- 
yond Red  Horse  Hill,  were  more  restrained,  if  equally 
curious.  But  they,  unlike  the  Red  Villagers,  had  an 
immediate  duty  in  hand  with  the  preparations  for 
Dr.  Singleterry's  funeral.  According  to  the  wish 
expressed  during  his  last  utterance,  his  body  was  to 
be  sent  to  Orbury. 

Added  to  the  two  social  factions  mentioned,  there 


292  RED  HORSE  HILL 

was  a  dusky  third,  a  nomadic  third,  that  of  the  col- 
ored servant  population  of  the  town.  The  interest- 
centre  of  this  alert  assemblage  might  be  found  in  the 
Alden's  kitchen-wing.  It  was  remarkable  how  many 
small  pretexts  were  evolved  for  gaining  even  a  momen- 
tary entrance.  The  milkman  who,  heretofore,  had 
never  condescended  to  alight  from  his  hooded  throne, 
was  seized  with  a  burning  thirst  for  hydrant  water,  and 
hurried  up  the  kitchen  steps  with  the  alacrity  of  a 
modern  Tantalus,  just  released.  Daughters  of  the 
Shining  Doves,  on  spread  pinions  of  curiosity,  flocked 
Aunt  Mandy-ward,  and  friends  of  Archer  and  Poline 
"  Jes'  thought  they'd  drap  in  fer  a  minute,"  with  a 
most  surprising  uniformity  of  motive. 

In  the  midst  of  it  Aunt  Mandy,  ponderous,  reticent, 
disdainful,  moved  about  her  usual  duties.  To  none 
would  she  vouchsafe  a  personal  opinion,  except  in  a 
few  disjointed  grunts  of  the  uncomfortable  import 
that:  "  It  was  de  white  folks'  business,  and  she 
couldn't  see  why  all  the  niggers  in  Zion  was  wagglin' 
dey  fool  tongues  out  over  it  nohow!  " 

Perhaps  it  was  to  revenge  this  humiliating  racial 
attitude  on  the  part  of  the  old-fashioned  servant  that 
the  two  younger  ones  were  eager  to  impart  all  that 
they  knew,  and  much  that  they  did  not.  Under  a 
fire  of  questioning,  they  revelled  in  suggestions  of 
more  important  knowledge  withheld.  The  side 
glances,  broken  exclamations,  and  gestures  of  Po- 
line might  have  done  service  in  mediaeval  Florence. 
It  was  a  fact,  indeed,  that  the  keen-witted  mulatto 
girl  felt  certain  that  there  was  more  involved  in  the 
situation  than  the  saving  of  one  poor  child. 

When  out  of  the  kitchen,  she  went  about  the  house 
with  stealthy  feet,  and  was  rewarded  by  more  than 
one  exciting  and  baffling  phrase. 

She  gathered,  beyond  doubt,  that  Mr.  Alden  in- 


A  MESSAGE  293 

tended  remaining  for  the  present  at  Putnam's  hotel, 
and  that  his  reason  for  doing  so  was  anger  against  his 
wife.  From  some  of  Maris'  sobbing  words  to  Ruth, 
she  knew  that  her  mistress  intended  taking  the  sick 
child  to  Orbury,  where  the  old  minister  was  to  be 
buried,  just  as  soon  as  the  little  invalid  could  safely 
make  the  journey.  Beyond  these  beliefs  Poline 
must  enter  the  pleasant  forest  of  imagination,  and 
such  was  her  dexterous  use  of  talent,  that,  by  Monday 
night,  half  of  the  town  strayed  thither  in  her  com- 
pany. 

When  Dr.  Singleterry's  funeral  services  took  place 
at  Sidon,  Maris,  very  slender  and  pale  in  her  black 
gown,  sat  through  the  ceremony  without  apparent 
emotion.  Her  thoughts  were,  for  the  most  part, 
leagues  away  from  her  surroundings.  It  seemed  to 
her  of  little  importance  that  the  frail  shell  of  what  had 
been  a  holy  man  lay  quiet  before  her,  under  the 
heaped-up  flowers.  She  knew  that  his  spirit  was 
free,  and  had  already  added  to  her  strength.  Be- 
cause of  brooding  thoughts  she  had  not  seen  that 
Dwight  Alden,  standing  in  a  side  aisle  of  the  crowded 
church,  had  kept  his  eyes  upon  her. 

It  was  well  for  her  that  she  did  not  know.  She 
had  accepted  already  the  fact  that  Dwight  had  cast 
her  off.  In  a  dazed  way  she  realized  that  she  might 
never  again  see  his  face,  yet  had  she  been  able  to  put 
her  own  thoughts  clearly  she  would  have  said  that, 
between  her  and  Dwight,  better  disgrace,  absence, 
and  a  total  casting  off  than  that  he  should  be  the 
one  to  lie  quiet  under  flowers.  It  is  only  old  age  and 
a  religious  pre-resignation  of  the  things  of  life  that 
makes  death  endurable.  Maris  loved  her  husband 
with  the  strength  of  a  woman  at  once  weak  and  pas- 
sionate, but  she  would  have  given  him  into  the  arms 
of  another  wife,  she  would  have  abased  and  degraded 


294  RED  HORSE  HILL 

herself  to  the  last  verge  of  suffering,  only  to  have  him 
on  the  earth  alive. 

She  knelt  and  rose  mechanically.  The  words  of  the 
burial  service,  usually  so  full,  to  her,  of  majesty,  went 
by  unheeded.  She  had  begun  to  revolve,  in  her  own 
way,  the  present  situation.  It  was  only  at  intervals 
like  this  that  she  was  able  to  control  her  thoughts,  and 
she  could  not  let  the  opportunity  pass. 

Just  before  leaving  the  house,  —  Dwight  Alden's 
house,  —  she  had  sought  out  Dr.  Page,  who,  it  had 
seemed  to  her,  had  rather  deliberately  avoided  her 
vicinity.  She  wished  to  learn  of  him  the  earliest 
possible  date  at  which  she  and  Felicia  could  make  the 
trip  to  Orbury.  For  it  was  to  Orbury  that  she,  with 
Ruth's  sanction  and  approval,  had  decided  she  would 
go.  There  would  be  at  least  one  friend,  —  the  min- 
ister, —  awaiting  them.  With  this  objective  point 
settled,  it  was  characteristic  of  Maris  that  she  should 
begin  to  feel  the  nervous  tension  of  impatience  to  de- 
part. Her  chief  thought  in  this  was  the  humiliation 
being  hourly  endured  by  keeping  Dwight  Alden  from 
his  own  home. 

Dr.  Page,  after  a  slight  hesitation,  had  said  to  her 
that  Felicia  could  possibly  travel  by  the  end  of  an- 
other week. 

Maris,  searching  his  face  had  cried  out:  "  You  do 
not  seem  to  approve!  Will  the  climate  of  North  Caro- 
lina not  be  good  for  Felicia?  " 

"  The  best  possible,"  said  Page.     "  It  isn't  that." 

"  Perhaps  you  were  wondering  how  I  could  afford 
to  go  anywhere,"  said  Maris  next,  with  a  deep  flush. 
"  It  is  dear  Ruth's  splendid  generosity  —  " 

He  checked  her  by  a  gesture.  "  No,  —  no,  that 
has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  I  must  not  say  more  just 
now.  We  will  talk  it  over  when  you  get  back." 

With  this  she  was  forced  to  be  satisfied.    She  re- 


A  MESSAGE  295 

called  now,  in  church,  each  word  of  the  young  physi- 
cian, and  wondered  again  at  the  suppressed  excitement 
of  his  manner.  Clearly  there  was  something  of  im- 
portance to  say.  He  had  been  at  the  hotel  with 
Dwight.  Could  there  be  any  word  from  him?  But 
no,  —  she  must  hope  nothing  there.  Had  he  not 
said  to  her  in  person,  in  that  dreadful  gray  dawn 
hour:  "We  have  had  no  past  together.  —  you  and 
I." 

Perhaps  Harvey  had  been  thinking  of  the  one  great 
menace  to  Felicia's  recovery  that  still  remained,  — 
the  watchful  enmity  of  Winch  and  Jane.  The  man, 
she  knew,  was  ill,  and  in  all  probability  would  not  be 
able  to  follow  her;  but  Jane,  —  that  gaunt,  famished, 
sinful  Nemesis  called  Jane,  —  what  would  she  not 
risk  and  dare! 

The  terror  of  this  image  brought  back  to  Maris  the 
old  dizziness,  and  warned  her  to  cease  all  thought  and 
planning  until  the  throbbing  ache  at  the  base  of  her 
brain  should  begin  to  fade.  She  leaned  back,  and 
slowly  closed  her  aching  lids.  At  the  moment  the 
organ  began  the  prelude  to  a  familiar  hymn,  and, 
with  the  soothing  of  it  a  peace,  almost  of  oblivion, 
drew  about  her. 

When  the  services  were  complete  Maris  rose 
among  the  first,  and  followed,  quite  closely,  the  dark 
casket  upon  which  merciful  flowers  were  still  heaped. 
She  retained,  yet,  a  partial  numbness  of  sensation, 
the  reaction  of  her  recent  agitation,  and  had  not 
noticed  that  in  her  present  line  of  advance,  she  must 
inevitably  brush  against  Dwight,  who,  as  though  to 
force  the  situation,  stood  motionless  at  one  side  of 
the  doorway. 

He  had  been  watching  her  steadily,  and,  as  she 
approached,  braced  himself  for  the  encounter.  She, 
on  the  contrary,  had  for  the  moment  forgotten  his 


296  RED  HORSE  HILL 

existence,  so  great  was  her  present  stress  of  thought, 
and  as  she  brushed  his  arm  it  was,  to  her,  as  a  shock 
of  fire.  She  started,  and  gave  a  cry  so  low  that  none 
but  her  husband  heard,  then  flung  her  head  backward, 
and  for  one  superlative  moment  their  eyes  met. 

Felicia  was  always  conscious  now.  In  spite  of  the 
pain  which  still  lingered  in  the  injured  arm,  she  felt 
herself  part  of  an  existence  more  beautiful  than  her 
most  fantastic  dream.  With  the  unquestioning 
optimism  of  a  child,  she  appropriated  all  the  love  and 
care  now  heaped  upon  her.  She  knew  well  where 
she  was,  that  it  was  the  wife  and  sister,  of  her  "  mill 
boss "  who  were  now  so  good  to  her.  She  had 
still  a  reservation  of  fear  and  possible  mistrust  for 
the  doctor  who  insisted,  every  day,  upon  examining 
her  arm  and  making  it  hurt,  but  even  this  shadow  of 
antipathy  was  fading.  Both  Page  and  Ruth  were 
fitted  to  do  more  for  her  than  the  inexperienced  Maris, 
yet  it  was  when  the  latter  left  the  room  that  Felicia's 
eyes  followed  hungrily,  and  so  long  as  she  was  away, 
watched  with  a  look  that  would  brighten  or  grow  sad 
as  it  chanced  that  a  newcomer  was  or  was  not 
Maris. 

This  morning  she  had  been  told  that  "  Lady,"  as 
she  insisted  upon  calling  Maris,  had  gone  to  the  good 
old  minister's  funeral,  and  must  be  away  for  some 
length  of  time.  By  the  end  of  an  hour  she  had  begun 
to  question,  wistfully:  "  Ain't  Lady  come  back  yet?  " 
or  to  ask  of  Ruth:  "  Do  you  mind  jes'  lookin'  outer  de 
window  jes'  wunst  more,  Miss  Ruth,  to  see  ef  church 
ain't  lettin'  out  yit?  " 

When  finally  the  opening  of  the  front  door  and  the 
respectful  greeting  of  Archer  announced  that  the 
mistress  had  returned,  Felicia  was  heard  to  cry  out 
joyously:  "It's  her,  — it's  Lady!"  The  child's 


A    MESSAGE  297 

slim  body,  weighted  with  its  bandaged  arm,  literally 
vibrated  with  impatience.  Her  brightening  eyes 
seemed  to  count  each  step  as  Maris  ascended,  and 
when  she  heard  the  level  of  the  hall  attained,  and 
still  Maris  did  not  open  the  sick-room  door,  a  look  of 
troubled  disappointment  clouded  her  face,  and  she 
besought  Ruth  to  "  Go  see  if  Lady's  tooken  sick." 

Ruth,  herself  a  little  apprehensive,  hurried  into  the 
dressing-room  that  Maris  still  occupied,  and  found 
a  black-robed  figure,  flung  face  down  its  full  length 
upon  the  couch,  shaking  with  convulsive  sobs. 

"  Was  it  so  trying,  dear?  "  Ruth  asked. 

"  No  —  not  the  funeral.    That  was  a  thing  of  peace 
and  beauty.    I'm  not  crying  over  that!    Oh,  Ruth, 
Ruth!  "  here  she  sat  upright,  and  turned  drowned 
yet  luminous  eyes  to  her  companion.    "  It's  Dwight! 
I  saw  him  there.    I  brushed  by  him,  touching  him,  - 
yes,  actually  touching  him.     He  looked  at  me  — 
Here  the  sobs  had  to  be  fought  again.     In  the  in- 
terval Ruth,  trying  to  help,  asked  gently:  "  And  how 
did  he  seem,  dear?  " 

"  Not  harsh  and  cold  as  he  did  in  that  awful  place 
yesterday,"  answered  Maris,  when  she  could  speak 
again.  "  It  was  a  strange  look,  but  it  was  not  cruel, 
only  deep  and  sad  and  —  I  don't  know  what  to  think 
of  it,  Ruth,  only  it  caught  my  heart  like  hands  and 
wrung  it,  —  so!"  she  cried  more  passionately, 
suiting  the  words  to  a  frantic  wringing  of  black- 
gloved  fingers.  "  That's  why  I  am  so  terribly  un- 
nerved again.  I  wish  I  had  not  seen  him.  No! 
I  don't  mean  that,  —  I  am  thankful,  —  thankful  to 
have  met  his  dear  eyes  again,  even  if  it  makes  things 
harder  afterward."  Here,  in  her  excitement,  she  rose 
and  stood  facing  Ruth  with  eyes  from  which  the  new 
glory  was  swiftly  drying  all  trace  of  tears. 

Ruth  returned  the  look  eagerly,  and  once  had 


298  RED  HORSE  HILL 

opened  her  lips  to  speak.  Harvey  had,  of  course,  told 
her  everything.  Ruth  longed  to  deliver  the  message, 
but  checked  herself,  knowing  that  Harvey  would 
prefer  choosing  for  himself  the  best  possible  moment. 
So,  instead  of  the  words  she  longed  to  speak,  she  said, 
as  quietly  as  she  could:  "  I  don't  wonder  at  your  agi- 
tation, dear,  but  you  must  try  to  put  it  aside  just  now. 
Felicia  needs  you.  We  fear  she  may  fret  herself 
into  a  fever." 

Maris  put  her  two  palms  to  her  temple.  "  Felicia?  " 
she  repeated,  in  the  voice  one  uses  for  an  unfamiliar 
name.  She  stared  on,  for  an  instant  longer,  as  one 
suddenly  awakened,  then  with  a  cry  hurried  toward 
the  door.  "  My  baby,  —  my  poor  baby,"  Ruth  heard 
the  flying  figure  whisper. 

"  O,  Lady,  you  wuz  such  a  norful  time  comin' 
back,"  Felicia  wailed,  at  sight  of  the  longed-for  vis- 
itor. 

"  Yes,  dear,"  said  Maris.  "  I  loved  the  old  minis- 
ter very  much,  you  know." 

Lisshy  pondered.  "  Somehow  I  didn't  think  that 
ministers  could  go  dead,  like  other  folks,"  she  said, 
in  her  slow,  sweet  drawl.  "  Hit  seems  as  ef  God 
oughter  take  keer  o'  them  kind." 

"  Why,  He  does,  you  funny  little  chicken,"  said 
Maris.  "  It  is  not  being  unkind  when  the  dear  Father 
gives  them  rest  after  a  long  life  of  work.  Even  a 
minister  gets  very  tired  and  wants  to  rest." 

Lisshy  drew  a  long,  reminiscent  sigh.  "  Do  people 
that  don't  have  to  work  in  mills  git  tired,  too?  " 

"  Indeed  they  do,  my  darling;  and  some  of  us  get 
tired  out  doing  things  much  less  brave  and  fine  than 
working  in  the  mills." 

This  was  too  new  a  thought  for  Lisshy  to  take  in 
all  at  once.  She  shut  her  eyes  a  little  wearily.  In 
the  interval  the  two  women  again  exchanged  glances, 


A  MESSAGE  299 

and  Maris  made  a  gesture  for  the  other  to  be  seated. 
Ruth  shook  her  head  in  refusal,  and  was  about  to 
speak  when  Lisshy's  thin  voice  rose:  "  'Ud  you  mind 
singin'  me  that  little  song  again,  Lady?  " 

"  Which  song,  dear?  " 

"  Sumpin'  about  'Sleep  baby  sleep';  an'  don't 
fergit  to  take  de  boat  back.  Of  course,"  she  added, 
in  some  embarrassment,  looking  from  Maris'  face  to 
Ruth's:  "  I  know  hit's  only  a  kid  song;  but,  somehow, 
when  you're  down  sick  wid  somethin'  hurtin',  hit 
sounds  powerful  good." 

While  she  was  speaking  the  sound  of  a  clicking 
gate  could  be  heard  through  the  opened  window,  fol- 
lowed by  rapid  footsteps  along  the  cemented  walk. 
Ruth  betrayed  an  instant  alertness. 

"  Evidently  I  am  not  wanted  here,"  she  remarked 
jocosely.  "  I  think  I  will  try  to  find  a  more  appre- 
ciative spot." 

"  It's  coming  up  the  walk  now,"  said  Maris,  mis- 
chievously. "  Go  down  to  it,  but  after  a  while  bring 
it  up  to  us,  won't  you?  " 

Ruth  flaunted  indignantly  from  the  room,  her 
dimple  twinkling. 

When  she  had  reached  the  lower  floor,  and  the 
greeting  between  herself  and  Harvey  was  over,  Maris 
rose  and  went  in  search  of  a  low  rocking-chair.  She 
dragged  it  to  Lisshy's  bedside,  placing  it  as  close  as 
possible. 

"  Now  we  are  all  to  ourselves,"  she  said,  patting 
the  hand  that  lay  near.  "  And  now  I  am  going  to 
sing  just  what  you  want,  until  you  are  tired  out,  and 
beg  me  to  stop." 

Felicia  did  not  try  to  answer.  The  life  of  the  mills 
breeds  silence  in  a  child;  but  she  let  all  the  love  of 
her  starved  soul  brim  the  eyes  turned  upon  Maris, 
so  that  the  woman  shivered,  and  had  to  lean  forward 


300  RED  HORSE  HILL 

under  pretext  of  arranging  the  bedclothes,  in  order  to 
retain  enough  control  for  singing. 

Maris'  voice  had  never  been  trained,  but  nature  had 
given  her  certain  thrush-notes  that  pierced  a  listener's 
heart  with  sweetness.  Perhaps  it  was  this  very  in- 
equality of  voice  that  made  the  notes  stand  out,  like 
white  lilies  springing  above  a  bed  of  weeds. 

Maris  sang  the  well-known  verses  through,  letting 
the  last  tender  cadence  fade  into  a  silence  that  itself 
had  become  unuttered  music.  The  child  attempted 
no  word  of  thanks,  only,  with  an  indrawn  sigh  of 
rapture,  pleaded  "  Jes'  wunst  mo'." 

"  The  same  song  over  again?  "  questioned  Maris, 
smiling. 

"  Yes,"  said  Lisshy's  eyes,  and  Maris  sang. 

Now  Lisshy  bestirred  herself.  Her  wan  little  face 
took  on  the  look  of  eagerness  which  Maris  was  begin- 
ning to  recognize  as  the  sign  of  interest  suddenly 
aroused.  She  leaned  forward,  her  own  eyes  lambent 
with  encouragement  and  love. 

"  What  is  it,  darling?  " 

"  I  sho'  do  like  that  song,"  drawled  Lisshy.  Then 
she  asked,  more  shyly :  "  Was  de  kid's  mother  skeered 
hit  moutn't  ever  come  back?  " 

"  Yes;  that  is  the  sort  of  thing  all  real  mothers  are 
afraid  of,"  said  Maris,  biting  her  lips  to  stop  their 
trembling. 

Lisshy  frowned.  Troubled  thoughts  were  evi- 
dently crowding  in.  Maris  knew  that  she  was  think- 
ing of  the  gaunt,  unlovely  Jane.  Suddenly  the  child 
turned  her  face,  and,  speaking  with  a  little  rush  of 
excitement,  said:  "  Lady,  would  you  min'  singin' 
dat  same  one  jes'  wunst  mo'?  I  promise  not  to 
ask  agin.  I  don't  want  to  hear  no  yudder  one  to- 
day." 

Maris  sang,  and  this  time  it  was  necessary  to  keep 


A  MESSAGE  301 

her  eyelids  down,  for  fear  that  Felicia's  small  face  and 
what  it  said  might  stop  all  singing.  Even  to  the 
singer's  own  careless  ears  some  of  the  lingering  notes 
of  Jessie  Gaynor's  exquisite  melody  had  an  unearthly, 
almost  an  unbearable  sweetness. 

When  it  was  at  an  end  the  child  lay  so  very  still 
that  Maris  thought  she  must  be  sleeping.  A  sort  of 
tender  apathy  fell  on  the  mother,  also,  and  she  leaned 
back,  her  eyes  closed,  her  head  against  a  chair.  For 
a  small  time  she  rested  thus,  unthinking;  then  the 
troubled  waking  dreams  began  to  come.  She  let  her 
fancy  wander  into  realms  that  never  could  have  existed. 
Perhaps  the  maddest  and  the  most  tormenting  thought 
was  this,  —  if  Lisshy  could  only,  by  some  inconceiv- 
able magic,  be  her  child  and  Dwight's.  Other  women, 
—  many,  many  women,  —  had  such  a  supreme  glory 
as  this  in  their  lives,  the  love  of  an  idolized  husband, 
a  clean  and  flawless  past  that  all  were  free  to  look 
upon,  and  the  joy  of  a  little  child.  Yet  she  had  heard 
just  such  women  cry  out  against  their  lives,  and  the 
petty  annoyances  of  every  day.  In  their  hearts  such 
women  must  be  happy,  though  they  did  not  realize 
it.  She  tried  to  picture  to  herself  how  a  really  happy 
woman  must  feel.  It  seemed  to  her  now  that  if 
she  could  be  such  an  one,  she  would  have  thanked 
God,  aloud,  each  time  that  she  saw  her  image  hi  the 
glass,  or  the  look  of  her  own  eyes  reflected  in  the  up- 
turned faces  of  her  children.  It  had  always  been 
Maris'  way  to  plan  ahead  for  a  better  period  when  this 
or  that  crisis  was  to  be  past,  —  to  make  great  reso- 
lutions which,  to  be  truthful,  were  very  seldom  kept. 
She  said  to  herself,  now,  that  when  she  was  finally 
driven  forth  from  Eden,  she  and  her  child,  and  the 
angel  with  the  sword  of  fire  barred  re-entrance,  she 
would  go  out  into  the  world  to  seek  such  happy  women, 
and  exhort  them  to  realize  their  own  blessedness. 


302  RED  HORSE  HILL 

Her  mind  went  from  one  to  another  of  her  friends 
who  were  happy,  unmenaced  women.  She,  too,  was 
a  mother.  Annunciation  had  touched  her,  also; 
but  what,  hi  this  dark  present,  had  her  motherhood 
to  give  or  to  receive?  Even  though  Felicia  were  to 
live,  what  future  stretched  before  the  child?  "At 
least,"  thought  the  unhappy  woman,  "  it  cannot  be 
as  sorrowful  as  what  has  been." 

"  Lady,"  came  Felicia's  low  voice  from  the  bed, 
"  do  you  know,  whilst  you  was  singin',  I  mos'  went  to 
sleep,  —  not  all  the  way,  jes'  half.  An'  I  sho  did  feel 
funny." 

Maris  saw  that  the  child  labored  to  express  some 
unusual  emotion,  and  that  she  was  not  quite  sure  how 
her  confidence  was  to  be  received. 

"  Tell  me  about  it,  dear,"  she  said  gently.  "  I 
would  like  to  hear  everything.  In  what  way  did  it 
feel  funny?  " 

Lisshy  opened  her  eyes  and  gave  a  long,  long  look, 
the  look  of  a  child  instinctively  skeptical  of  being 
understood.  Childhood  is  a  lonely  land,  even  when 
a  pleasant  one,  and  its  small  denizens  are  forever  on 
guard  against  the  dragon  "  Ridicule."  Evidently 
Felicia  was  convinced  that  here  she  could  open  her 
heart  without  fear,  for,  after  a  long  sigh  of  relief  she 
began,  —  speaking  with  unaccustomed  vivacity : 

"  You  was  singing,  —  up  an'  down-like,  and  I  was 
that  kid  in  a  little  boat,  movin'  up  an'  down,  too,  jes' 
so." 

She  gave  the  motion  with  her  hand  above  the  coun- 
terpane. 

"  Yes,  dear,  I  am  listening.  I  have  felt  just  that 
way  in  a  dream  myself." 

"  You  know  I  aint  ever  been  in  a  real  boat,"  con- 
fessed Felicia.  "  But  I've  seed  a  mite  o'  picters  uv 
boats  an'  water  in  the  papers,  and  when  I  thought  I 


A  MESSAGE  303 

wuz  in  yo'  singin'-boat,  it  seemed  jes'  as  nachal 
(natural)  as  de  old  mill  floor." 

"  And  did  you  like  being  in  the  boat?"  smiled  Maris. 

"  You  bet  yo'  socks  I  did! "  cried  the  child.  "  I 
liked  the  rockin',  an'  the  way  the  breeze  blowed.  Hit 
smelt  jes'  like  yo'  handkerchief  that  first  night.  They 
was  a  lot  o'  shinin'  water  way  out  in  front,  an'  I  kept 
on  sayin'  to  de  boat  'go  on,  —  go  on, — go  on, — 
You  kaint  go  too  far  fer  me! ' " 

"  And  all  the  time  you  were  sailing  farther  and 
farther  away  from  shore,"  said  Maris,  to  encourage  the 
narrative. 

"  Yas'm,"  said  Felicia  dreamily,  and  then  paused. 
She  withdrew  her  eyes  from  the  shimmering  distances 
of  vision  to  search  again  the  beloved  face  so  near. 
"  I  didn't  mind  leavin'  the  land,"  she  said  at  length, 
putting  out  her  hand  again  that  Maris  might  clasp 
it,  "  but  you  was  standin'  back  there  awaitin',  an' 
you  didn't  have  no  boat." 

"  And  I  was  calling  out  to  you  not  to  go  so  far  away, 
now  wasn't  I?  "  asked  Maris,  smiling  a  little  tremu- 
lously. 

"  Nome,  you  wasn't,  —  not  exacterly,"  said  Feli- 
cia, with  an  ah*  of  reluctance  at  contradicting  the 
oracle.  "  That  was  one  of  the  funny  things.  You 
didn't  make  no  noise  at  all,  an'  you  didn't  wave  yo' 
hand,  but  I  knew  you  was  cryin'  out  to  me  inside 
yo'se'f,  an'  that  was  why  I  know'd  I  mus'  come  back." 

"Yes, — yes,"  said  the  mother  hurriedly.  "You 
must  always  come  back,  just  as  you  did  that  terrible 
night  from  the  train.  You  must  never  let  people 
keep  you  away  from  me,  darling.  Promise,  —  prom- 
ise, that  you  will  always  find  the  way  back." 

"  I  promise,  —  cross  my  gizzard,  I  do,"  said  the 
child  soothingly.  "  Don't  you  fret  yo'se'f  a  minute 
'bout  that,  ru  allays  find  my  way  to  you." 


304  RED  HORSE  HILL 

"Oh,  Lisshy,  Lisshy!"  the  woman  burst  out  in 
an  agony,  and  then  bit  her  lips  till  they  bled,  to  keep 
back  the  torrent  of  words  that  would  have  betrayed 
their  true  relationship.  The  doctor  had  warned  her 
against  exciting  the  child  by  a  premature  disclosure. 
She,  herself,  was  not  ready  for  the  revelation,  and  yet 
at  moments,  the  wish  to  claim  Felicia  as  her  very 
own  was  like  a  convulsion  of  desire.  She  buried  her 
face  now  on  the  pillow  just  beside  Felicia,  swallowing 
hard  and  clenching  her  hands  to  keep  back  the  threat- 
ened hysteria.  The  child  continued  to  pat  and  soothe 
her  with  her  uninjured  hand,  murmuring  words  of 
love  and  encouragement,  so  that  neither  of  them  heard 
or  saw  the  two  visitors  who  had  come  to  the  opened 
door,  and  now  stood,  in  silence,  watching  the  pathetic 
scene. 

Felicia  caught  sight  of  them  first.  "  Lady's  bin' 
singin'  a  lot,  an'  she  is  plum  wore  out,"  she  explained, 
with  dignity. 

Maris  lifted  her  head. 

"  Maris,  dear,"  said  Ruth.  "  Harvey  has  a  message 
for  you." 

Maris  got  to  her  feet  and  faced  them  with  fright- 
ened eyes.  Her  first  thought  was  of  a  threat  from 
Jane  and  Winch. 

"  It  is  no  bad  news,  I  assure  you,  Mrs.  Alden,"  said 
Page  quickly.  "  But  perhaps  it  is  just  as  well  for  me 
to  tell  you  in  the  next  room." 

He  made  a  motion  of  the  head  toward  Felicia, 
and  at  the  same  instant  Ruth  said:  "I'll  stop  here 
with  our  little  patient." 

Maris  followed  the  young  doctor  in  silence.  She 
knew  well  enough  that  his  precaution  was  against  her 
possible  lack  of  self-control,  and  not  out  of  necessity 
for  Lisshy's  welfare. 

"  It  is  from  your  husband,"  said  Harvey  at  once, 


A  MESSAGE  305 

when  they  had  reached  the  outer  corridor.  "  A  great 
mental  change  has  taken  place  in  him,  ever  since,  hi 
fact,  a  visit  from  the  woman  Jane  Winch." 

"  Yes,  —  yes,"  was  all  Maris  could  say,  but  her 
clasped  hands  and  imploring  eyes  urged  him  to  haste. 

"  All  along,  as  you  know,  he  has  refused  to  see  you, 
—  but  now  —  " 

"  But  now?  "  her  ashen  lips  repeated. 

"  He  sends  you,  by  me,  a  formal  request  to  grant 
him  an  interview  here  hi  the  library,  at  six  o'clock." 

"  Six  o'clock,"  Maris  repeated  mechanically.  "  Six 
of  this  very  day?  " 

'''  Yes,  and  that,"  said  Harvey  briskly,  taking  out 
his  watch,  "  makes  it  just  two  hours  off." 


CHAPTER   NINETEEN 

THE   CONFLICT 

HE  is  coming.  He  will  be  here  at  six!  Oh,  why 
do  the  dull  hours  drag  across  the  day  so  heavily? 
Oh,  why  do  the  hours  flash  by  before  the  beating  of 
my  heart  can  know,  again,  the  rhythm  of  control? 
At  six,  —  at  six  o'clock,  and  already  five  is  here! 

The  evening  falls  grayly.  One  cannot  see  where 
the  sun  is  to  sink,  or  whether  there  be  a  sun  at  all. 
The  houses  march  by  in  the  dusk  like  spectral  mam- 
moths through  a  dream;  the  low  hills  to  the  west 
stretch  out  into  a  leaden  moor.  Only  the  gaunt  hill 
to  the  east  bares  redly  its  long  bright  wounds. 

Over  the  crest  and  down  along  the  further  hill- 
slope,  the  pigmy  house-blocks  cluster,  and  here  and 
there  a  flickering  light  declares  a  human  habitant. 
In  one  of  the  huts  there  is  a  man,  a  leprous  creature 
crawling  back  to  life,  and  tangled  in  some  hideous, 
unfathomed  way  with  the  very  tissues  of  nobler 
existences.  Scarcely  a  mile  from  him,  as  the  crow 
flies,  his  child  is  lying  in  a  rich  man's  bed.  Whose 
child  did  you  say  it  was?  Yes,  that  is  right,  the 
leper's;  surely  it  is  not  mine,  —  not  Maris  Alden's. 
Away  with  sickness,  drunkenness,  beggary,  —  all 
the  unlovely  refuse  of  misfortune!  There  is  but  one 
thing  in  the  world  for  Maris  Alden,  and  that  is  her 
husband's  love. 

It  is  of  his  own  will  he  is  coming  back.    He  urged 


THE  CONFLICT  307 

upon  me  this  interview.  Surely  it  cannot  be  for 
further  cruelty.  I  will  entice  him.  I  will  play  upon 
his  heart;  and  together  we  will  flee  from  this  place 
of  horrors,  he  and  I! 

The  night  comes  on  fast.  From  the  upper  window 
one  can  see  how  the  blood  on  Red  Horse  Hill  has 
dried  to  a  black  night-crust.  The  veins  of  the  day 
are  clogged  with  it.  In  the  gray  distance  a  child's 
voice  cries  "  Lady!  Lady!  "  Whose  alien,  whining 
child  is  it  who  calls  me  "  Lady?  " 

"  Maris,  Maris,  don't  wrench  yourself  away  from 
us.  You  must  listen  quietly.  Maris!  Shut  your 
wild  eyes  while  I  am  speaking.  It  is  Ruth,  your 
sister  Ruth,  that  is  here  to  help  you.  Harvey, 
—  Oh,  Harvey,  look!  Has  it  already  gone  too 
far?  " 

"  Ruth,  I  don't  know  any  one  called  '  Ruth/  ' 
said  Maris,  frightened,  half-complaining,  her  hands 
held  palm  outward  to  keep  her  companions  off.  "  I 
am  Maris,  Maris  Alden.  My  husband  will  soon  be 
here  to  take  me  away.  I  must  go  to  my  room  now 
and  put  on  a  pretty  gown.  This  has  become  so  black. 
I  thought  it  white  when  I  first  put  it  on.  Now,  let 
me  see."  She  stopped  short,  her  brows  taking  on 
a  small,  perplexed  frown,  her  curved  forefinger 
pressed  hard  against  her  lips  in  a  way  she  had  when 
thinking.  "  I  believe  that  new  red  one  would  be 
best.  He  liked  to  see  me  in  bright  colors.  When 
I  first  put  the  red  one  on  he  called  me  an  oriental 
poppy  which  the  wind  had  snapped,  for  him,  from 
its  too  brittle  stem."  She  let  the  hand  drop  from 
her  lips  and  stared  on,  smiling,  into  fantastic  images 
of  a  distraught  intelligence. 

Ruth's  face  grew  white  with  agony.  "  Harvey, 
can  you  not  stop  it?  Is  there  nothing  we  can  do?  " 


308  RED  HORSE  HILL 

she  moaned.  "  Oh,  to  have  it  all  end  in  such  a  night- 
mare tragedy  as  this?  " 

The  young  physician  was  deaf  to  her.  He  had 
thought,  for  the  moment,  but  for  Maris.  He  had 
been  watching  her  with  eyes  that  seemed  to  Ruth 
those  of  a  vivisector  enjoying  the  throes  of  a  helpless 
victim.  Once  the  girl  heard  him  mutter:  "  This  is 
the  sort  of  thing  I  expected." 

At  last  his  fixed  scrutiny  began  to  attract  the  waver- 
ing regard  of  Maris.  She  glanced  at  him,  let  her  look 
flutter  to  a  little  distance,  came  back,  almost  fur- 
tively, to  his  hard,  bright  eyes,  tried  again  to  with- 
draw her  own,  and  failed,  then  by  shivering  degrees 
became  passive  to  his  will. 

Her  vacant  smile  paled  into  fear.  The  nervous 
twitching  of  her  fingers  stopped.  Suddenly,  with  a 
spasmodic  movement,  she  was  on  her  feet,  trying 
to  push  past  him,  to  escape  the  terrible  magnet 
of  his  gaze.  But  Harvey  seized  her,  and,  to  Ruth's 
horror,  began  to  shake  the  frail  figure  as  low-born 
women  sometimes  shake  a  disobedient  child.  Then 
he  thrust  her  down  and  backward  into  the  chair 
from  which  she  had  leaped.  After  one  stifled  scream, 
Maris  made  no  resistance.  Her  eyelids  fell,  her  head 
bent  forward,  and  she  lay  in  her  place  as  motionless 
as  a  broken  marionette. 

"  Harvey,  Harvey,  what  is  this  that  you  have 
done!" 

"  Hush,  Ruth,  —  the  child  in  the  next  room  must 
not  be  aroused.  If  she  begins  to  weep  aloud  there 
is  no  hope  at  all  for  Maris.  Go,  bring  me  brandy, 
and  the  case  that  holds  my  hypodermics." 

"  You  would  not  stupefy  her,  —  make  her  insen- 
sible, when  Dwight  is  coming  —  "  Ruth  ventured, 
in  a  shaking  voice. 

"  Do  as  I  tell  you,"  said  the  doctor  shortly,  and 


THE  CONFLICT  .    309 

Ruth  hurried  off,  her  cheeks  tingling  with  the  rebuff, 
her  heart  triumphant  that  her  lover  was  this  man. 

Quickly  as  she  returned,  Maris'  eyes  were  already 
opened,  and  Harvey,  kneeling  beside  her  with  one 
cold  hand  clasped  strongly  in  both  of  his,  was  talking 
in  a  low,  distinct  voice. 

Ruth,  with  her  small  freight,  came  up  behind 
him  and  stood  watching.  Maris  had,  apparently, 
not  seen  her.  The  dark  eyes  were  fixed  with  a  shrink- 
ing, half-incredulous  look  upon  the  face  of  Page, 
and  Ruth  drew  a  great  sigh  of  thankfulness  to  see 
that  the  wildness  was  already  gone.  Harvey  was 
explaining,  quite  scientifically,  how  she  had  fainted, 
and  how  it  had  been  necessary  for  him  to  break  the 
straining  thread  of  thought  by  what  might  seem 
great  rudeness.  He  told  her  that  the  greatest  test  of 
all  was  now  before  her,  —  the  coming  interview  with 
Mr.  Alden,  and  that  it  was  because  of  this  momentous 
event,  that  he,  Harvey,  had  dared  extreme  measures. 

She  submitted  wordlessly  to  the  hypodermic,  and 
drank  what  was  given  her  of  the  choking  brandy. 
Then  she  leaned  back  again,  and,  for  a  moment, 
covered  her  face  with  her  two  hands. 

Harvey  and  the  girl  beside  him  turned  away,  and 
to  each  other.  They  moved,  by  common  instinct, 
across  the  room  from  the  stricken  figure  in  the  chair, 
and  when  they  were  quite  apart,  Harvey  held  out  his 
arms,  and  Ruth  came  to  them,  whispering:  "  I  never 
knew  how  much  I  really  cared  for  you  before!  " 

So  all  remained  hi  silence  until  Maris  was  heard 
to  stir.  She  sat  upright  and  looked  toward  her 
friends.  "  What  is  the  time  now?  "  she  asked. 

"  Half  after  five,"  said  Page. 

"  Only  thirty  minutes  more,  dear,"  cried  Ruth, 
hurrying  up  to  her.  "  And  you  will  spend  that  in 
the  room  with  me  and  Felicia,  won't  you?  " 


310  RED  HORSE  HILL 

The  other  glanced  down  at  her  plain  dress.  "  You 
do  not  need  to  change/'  said  Ruth,  answering  the 
look. 

"  No,"  said  Maris  slowly,  as  she  rose,  "  this  black 
one  is  the  best  that  I  could  wear." 

Felicia  had  fallen  asleep.  A  few  moments  later 
Harvey  took  his  departure,  and  the  two  women  sat 
alone  in  the  deepening  gloom. 

"  Don't  let  us  light  any  of  the  lights  yet,"  pleaded 
Maris.  A  little  after,  she  asked  in  a  low  voice:  "  Did 
I  seem,  —  did  I  act  very  queerly,  while  I  was  — 
ill?  " 

"  Yes,  dear.  For  a  little  while  it  seemed  as  if  you 
must  break  down  altogether.  I  couldn't  have  won- 
dered much  if  you  had.  But  you  are  clear  and  brave 
now.  You  feel  no  sense  of  strangeness.  Is  it  not 
so?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Maris.  "  I  was  never  more  abso- 
lutely possessed  of  what  faculties  I  own.  But  then, 
you  know,"  she  added,  with  a  pathetic  flicker  of  a 
smile,  "  I  never  prided  myself  on  having  many  facul- 
ties." 

Again  silence  fell.  Because  there  was  but  one 
thought  possible  to  each,  no  thought  could  be  spoken. 
Only,  when  the  hour  was  nearly  reached,  Maris 
said:  "When  we  hear  him  coming,  won't  you  go 
down  and  let  him  in,  yourself,  Ruth?  I  have  told 
the  servants  to  keep  out  of  the  main  house  until  I 
ring  for  them." 

When  Maris  entered  the  library  there  was  but  one 
dim  light  alive.  Dwight  stood  immediately  behind 
the  faint  radiance  so  that  his  face  and  shoulders  were 
in  comparative  darkness. 

Maris  closed  the  door  softly  and  stood  with  her 
back  to  it,  facing  Dwight.  He  did  not  speak  at  once, 


THE  CONFLICT  311 

and,  as  she  stood  waiting,  the  thought  came  over 
Maris  quite  as  an  impersonal  interest,  how  remark- 
able it  was  that,  in  her  brief  ownership  of  this  small 
room,  three  interviews  should  have  taken  place 
in  it,  each  with  a  different  companion,  and  all  of 
such  tremendous  significance.  This  momentary 
withdrawal  of  personality,  so  to  speak,  this  gray 
pause  in  which  she  was  enabled  to  perceive,  in  per- 
spective, her  own  desperate  position,  and  the  rela- 
tion borne  to  it  by  her  silent  visitor,  gave  her  an 
advantage  of  which  she  was  not  conscious,  and  of 
which  she  remained  unconscious  even  after  Dwight's 
opening  remark:  "  I  could  not  discuss  this  affair 
yesterday,  Maris,  when  you  came  to  me.  I  was  still 
in  partial  ignorance  —  "  He  broke  off,  uncertain 
how  to  proceed. 

Maris'  eyes  had  lifted  softly  and  now  went  search- 
ing for  his  face.  "  It  was  my  fault  for  forcing  my- 
self upon  you,"  she  answered,  in  a  voice  to  which  her 
restored  motherhood  had  added  a  deeper  note  of 
tenderness.  "I  —  " 

He  interrupted  by  an  imperious  gesture,  and,  at 
the  same  instant  stepped  around  by  the  end  of  the 
table  nearest  her.  "  Don't  say  that.  I  did  not 
mean  for  you  to  take  it  that  way.  You  are  not,  now, 
on  the  defensive,  Maris."  Again  he  paused  and,  to  his 
amazement,  was  again  at  a  loss  how  best  to  continue. 
This  was  not  at  all  as  he  could  have  foreseen.  It  is 
true  that  he  had  made  no  intellectual  pre-arrange- 
ment  for  his  part  in  the  coming  interview.  That 
would  have  seemed  quite  laughably  superfluous. 
Maris  and  the  logical  development  of  thought  had 
as  little  in  common  as  a  butterfly  and  a  text  book  on 
botany.  He  had  never  dreamed  of  hesitating  for 
a  word  with  Maris.  He  had  expected,  in  this  hour 
of  reconciliation,  merely  to  condone,  forgive  and 


312  RED  HORSE  HILL 

reestablish.  He  had  conceived  of  no  other  role  for 
Maris  than  that  of  grateful  penitent.  Now  he  was 
puzzled  and  annoyed  by  the  intangible  veil  that 
drooped  between  them,  holding  him  back,  and  giving 
her  an  air  of  sensitive  remoteness. 

He  drew  himself  together,  and  took  a  second  reso- 
lute step  forward  to  fix  his  eyes  more  firmly  upon  his 
wife. 

She  had  not  moved  from  her  place  against  the  door. 
In  her  straight  black  gown  she  seemed  incredibly 
slight  and  child-like.  Her  hair,  in  this  dim  room, 
was  part  of  the  general  blackness,  and  out  of  it  her 
small  upturned  face  gleamed  like  a  tropic  night- 
flower.  He  was  conscious  of  something  like  a  strange 
perfume,  and,  for  an  instant,  the  world  began  to  waver 
and  to  reel  with  it. 

"  I  fear  you  have  been  ill.  You  are  dreadfully 
pale,"  he  said.  Still  he  had  not  spoken  as  he  wished. 

"  Oh,"  replied  Maris,  with  a  gesture  that  showed 
how  little  importance  she  attached  to  it,  "I  believe 
I  have  been  ill,  but  it  is  past.  Please  do  not  think  of 
me  as  ill." 

Flung  thus  upon  his  reserves  he  cried  out:  "  Maris, 
I  have  come  to  tell  you  that  we  need  not  part.  Things 
shall  be  with  us  as  they  were  before  this  infernal 
nightmare  came." 

"  We  —  need  —  not  —  part?  "  The  words  were 
echoed  softly,  incredulously,  and  as  if  at  a  great 
distance.  Dwight  saw  that  he  must  speak  plainly. 
"  I  had  an  interview  with  Winch's  wife  last  night 
at  the  hotel.  She  brought  with  her  a  paper  that 
Winch  tried  to  bribe  you  with.  You  knew  he  had 
a  paper?  " 

"  Yes,  I  supposed  he  meant  me  to  know  he  had  a 
paper." 

"  Of  course  he  did  not  explain  it  fully.     He  did 


THE  CONFLICT  313 

not  wish  to  give  away  his  information  until  he  was 
sure  you  could  be  bribed.  I  can  just  fancy  how  he 
terrified  you  with  hints  and  threats,  poor  little 
woman."  His  voice  shook  a  little,  then  dropped  to 
a  note  of  protecting  tenderness. 

"  No,"  said  Maris  quickly,  with  a  little  gasp,  "  he 
did  not  frighten  me." 

"  Yet  you  refused  his  propositions." 
"  I  did  not  refuse  because  I  was  afraid." 
"  What  were  your  real  motives,  Maris?  " 
"  Shame  for  myself,  and  love  for  you,"  said  Maris 
in  a  low  voice. 

Dwight  gave  a  start  toward  her,  but  as  quickly 
she  had  thrown  out  a  shielding  hand.  "  No,  no. 
Why  is  it  that  you  said  we  need  not  part?  " 

"  Because  the  paper  you  failed  to  buy,  not  know- 
ing its  true  value,  I  purchased  outright,  together 
with  a  pledge  of  secrecy,  from  the  woman.  It  is 
safe  here,"  he  struck  himself  on  the  chest,  and  Maris 
winced  as  if  the  blow  had  been  given  to  her.  "  I  have 
examined  it  word  by  word,  —  a  noxious  task  enough, 
you  may  be  sure,  —  but  it  is  legal.  You  have  been 
freed  from  him  for  years,  Maris.  That  was  the 
thought  that  nearly  drove  me  mad  at  first,  —  what, 
if  he  were  alive,  had  been  our  relations.  Well,  that 
is  all  past  now,  thank  heaven!  "  He  threw  his  arms 
wide  with  a  gesture  of  relief.  "  We  can  put  the  whole 
thing  behind  us,  and  begin  again.  The  woman  will 
keep  silence,  she  and  the  man,  too.  I  have  paid 
enough  for  that." 

"  Then  she,  that  servant  woman,  succeeded  hi 
bribing  you?  "  said  Maris,  partly  as  a  question,  partly 
in  the  voice  of  one  trying  to  fix  a  doubtful  fact. 

The  other  flushed.  "  That  is  not  the  word  to  use 
for  the  transaction,  Maris.  The  parts  that  you  and 
I  have  borne  in  this  affair  are  very  different." 


314  RED  HORSE  HILL 

"  Yes,  I  did  not  think  of  that,"  murmured  Maris, 
her  eyes  again  lowered  in  shame.  And  then,  as  he 
stood  before  her,  still  scowling  slightly  from  her 
recent  speech,  she  breathed  one  further  word, — 
"  Felicia." 

Dwight  straightened  himself.  This  javelin,  he 
knew,  must  come,  and'  he  received  it  like  a  hero. 
"  I  have  put  much  thought  upon  this  problem,  you 
may  be  sure.  You  shall  be  permitted  to  keep  the 
child.  In  time  I  may  even  consent  for  it  to  receive 
our  name.  For  the  present  no  hint  had  better  be 
given  of  her  real  parentage." 

"  Not  even  to  Felicia  herself?  " 

Dwight  bit  his  lip  hard  before  he  was  able  to  an- 
swer quietly.  "  Would  you  think  it  quite  fair  to  me 
that  it  should  be  made  public?  Think  about  it  from 
that  point  of  view  a  moment,  Maris.  Try  to  think 
seriously." 

Again  the  little  room  brimmed  up  with  silence. 
In  it  the  dim  lamp  hung  like  a  submerged  and  phos- 
phorescent sphere.  Dwight  took  a  few  restless 
turns,  glancing  from  time  to  time  at  Maris  who, 
with  head  drooped  forward,  arms  down  hung,  and 
fingers  tightly  interlaced,  was  striving  to  obey  him 
and  think  seriously. 

When  she  spoke  her  voice  held  a  sadness  that  had 
been  absent  from  it  until  this  moment.  "  I  see 
what  you  mean,  Dwight.  You  have  the  right  to  ask 
this  of  me.  It  was  chiefly  for  silence  that  you  were 
willing  to  buy  the  paper.  I  promise  you  never  to 
speak  the  truth  about  Felicia  to  any  one,  —  not 
even  to  herself,  until  you  tell  me  that  I  may  speak." 

Dwight  gave  a  little,  half  smile  of  indulgence. 
"Well,  that  was  not  my  chief  reason;  I'm  glad, 
though,  that  you  are  able  to  see  even  a  part  of  the 
affair  in  a  practical  light.  Then,  as  I  take  it,  every- 


THE  CONFLICT  315 

thing  is  understood."  There  was  the  hint  of  a  question 
in  his  last  sentence.  He  came  nearer  by  a  few  inches, 
and  paused,  waiting  to  see  if  she  would  speak.  She 
only  drew  in  a  long,  long  breath,  and  it  seemed  to 
him  that  her  face  grew,  if  possible,  more  wan  and 
white. 

"  Maris,  will  you  not  come  to  me?  "  he  cried,  and 
now  his  arms  were  stretched  out  to  her.  "  I  am 
hungry  for  my  wife!  " 

She  did  not  lift  her  lids,  but  through  them  she 
could  see  the  look  of  love  and  mastery  he  bent  upon 
her,  —  the  fierce,  sweet,  tender  look  at  which  she 
had  so  often  flushed  and  trembled  in  the  sheer  ecstasy 
of  response.  She  had  begun  to  tremble  now,  but 
she  did  not  move  toward  him.  Rather  would  it 
seem  that  she  shrank  and  cowered.  "  Is  the  man, 
Martin,  then,  not  alive?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  curse  him;  he  is  alive  enough.  I  suppose 
he  will  live  along  on  my  money  for  the  next  ten  years. 
But  he  need  make  no  difference  to  us  now." 

"  To  you  perhaps  not,  —  not,  perhaps  to  you. 
You  are  a  man,  and  wise,  and  strong.  You  look  at 
these  things  as  the  world  looks.  But  with  me,  — 
with  me,  —  his  being  alive  makes  every  difference." 

Dwight  stood  as  if  suddenly  paralyzed.  His  arms 
fell  limply  to  his  sides.  "  Did  you  not  understand 
me  to  tell  you  that  you  have  been  free  of  him  for 
years,  —  legally  free,  —  long  before  our  marriage? 
You  surely  cannot  be  ridiculous  enough  to  let  the 
mere  fact  of  a  degenerate  existence  stand  between 
a  love  like  ours!  " 

She  nodded  slowly,  more  than  once.  Shadows 
thickened  under  her  eyes,  and  about  her  trembling 
lips.  She  put  out  groping  hands  and  then  placed 
the  palms  back  of  her  against  the  door,  as  if  she 
needed  strength.  "That's  just  what  I  do  mean, 


316  RED  HORSE  HILL 

Dwight.  Because  that  other  life  is  evil  and  degen- 
erate, —  because  once  I  was  close  to  it,  —  because, 
oh,  most  of  all,  —  because  I  love  you  absolutely, 
I  must  never  look  upon  your  face  again  while  Martin 
lives." 

Alden  tried  to  laugh.  "  Now,  have  I  got  to  begin 
over  from  the  first,  and  coax  and  argue  down  this 
flimsy  web  of  prejudice.  Leave  all  the  weighty 
thoughts  to  me,  dear.  I  am  your  husband  in  the 
sight  of  God  and  man." 

"  We're  going,  Felicia  and  I,  as  soon  as  she  can 
travel.  Your  sister  Ruth  is  to  help  us.  I  believe 
that  she  will  understand  why  I  cannot  stay  with  you, 
even  though  you  demand  it.  Don't  try  to  over- 
come me.  I  will  not  change.  I  must  go  away  from 
you,  Dwight,  —  I  must !  —  I  must !  "  Her  last  words 
were  a  wail. 

He  tried  to  look  upon  her  calmly,  tried  by  sheer 
strength  of  will  to  break  her  down,  but  he  might  as 
well  have  tried  to  bend  a  shaft  of  mist.  The  first 
premonitory  hint  of  defeat  touched  him  with  an  icy 
finger.  "  So  this  is  the  love  you've  boasted  of  so 
often!  "  he  cried,  the  more  harshly  that  he  might  hide 
the  hurt  pain  of  his  voice. 

"  I  love  you,  Dwight,"  she  panted.  "  I  have 
never  loved  you  more  utterly,  —  with  more  agony 
of  power  than  at  this  moment.  Do  you  suppose  it 
is  easy  for  me  to  turn  away  from  heaven  when  you 
hold  the  gate  open  for  me !  But  I  cannot,  —  I  will 
not  soil  your  blameless  life  by  companionship  with  a 
woman  who  once  belonged  to  that  foul,  living  crea- 
ture! " 

"  If  he  were  dead  then!  "  Dwight  burst  out. 

"  I  must  not  think  of  that,  —  but  death  is  clean 
and  merciful.  Let  me  go  now,  Dwight,  while  my 
strength  lasts." 


THE  CONFLICT  317 

But  things  had  gone  too  far  for  Dwight's  imperious 
nature.  He  brushed  aside,  by  a  gesture,  her  whis- 
pered petition  for  release. 

"  That  talk  of  soiling  my  blameless  life  is  all  idiocy, 
you  know.  I  could  laugh  if  I  did  not  see  that  it  meant 
so  much  to  you.  I've  been  no  saint,  or  Galahad  in  my 
time,  Maris,  and  I  never  pretended  that  I  had.  I 
want  you  now,  Which  or  no  Winch,  —  and  if  you 
won't  come  to  me,  by  God,  I'll  take  you,  anyhow! " 

He  towered  above  her,  his  eyes  flashing  with  re- 
solve. She  crouched  still  closer  to  the  oaken  panel, 
her  clasped  hands  making  a  spot  not  much  larger 
than  a  rose  upon  her  breast.  Terror  was  in  her 
upraised  eyes,  but  also  love,  the  famished  love- 
hunger  of  a  woman's  passionate  soul.  With  one  bold 
move  Dwight  stooped  to  her,  catching  her  up,  and 
crushing  her  in  his  arms.  "  What  is  it  to  us  now, 
what  has  been?  "  he  cried  out  fiercely.  "  You  are 
mine,  Mai  is,  my  dear  wife,  and  all  the  devils  of  hell 
shall  not  drag  you  away  from  me!  " 

She  gave  a  little  moan  and  let  her  head  fall  back- 
ward on  his  arm.  He  covered  her  face  and  small 
backward  curved  throat  with  kisses,  —  mad,  fren- 
zied, famished  kisses,  that  had  in  them  something 
of  the  triumph  of  a  rescued  joy.  Not  until  after  his 
first  fury  of  passion  was  assuaged  did  he  take  note 
of  Maris'  unresponsiveness.  He  drew  his  lips  away, 
and  let  her  head  slip  downward  on  his  arm  that  he 
might  see  her  face.  It  was  white  and  still.  Not  all 
his  rage  of  love  had  brought  a  flush  to  it. 

"Maris!"  he  cried.  Then,  on  a  higher  note  of 
terror,  "Maris!"  Her  lips  did  not  even  tremble 
for  a  word. 

"  Maris,  my  wife.  My  darling.  Can  you  not 
speak?  This  is  Dwight,  your  husband !  " 

Still  Maris  did  not  answer,  and  the  man,  shaking 


318  RED  HORSE  HILL 

in  all  his  great  height  with  a  fear  that  seemed  to 
turn  his  bones  to  ashes,  managed  to  cross  the  room 
with  his  burden  and  place  it  gently  in  the  padded 
chair.  Then  he  reeled  out  into  the  hallway,  and 
cried  out  for  help  from  Ruth, 


CHAPTER  TWENTY 

MARIS  RETURNS  TO  ORBURY 

THE  little  town  of  Orbury  is  one  of  many,  set  down, 
in  a  happy  mood,  among  the  foothills  of  the  Blue 
Ridge  mountains.  The  quiet  folk  of  Orbury  are  not 
boastful,  —  it  is  only  the  insecure  who  boast.  In 
their  unworldly  hearts  the  dwellers  here  are  certain, 
—  yes,  utterly  assured,  —  that  over  them  the  sky 
spreads  just  a  little  more  intense  a  blue,  and  about 
them  the  hills  -lift  greener  slopes  than  in  other  parts 
of  earth. 

Cotton-mills  have,  as  yet,  passed  Orbury  by,  and 
in  all  its  fertile  valleys  not  one  stark  factory  chimney 
scars  the  sight. 

Its  houses,  many  of  them  ante-bellum  mansions, 
still  conserve  the  line  of  one  long  undulating  street 
set  at  both  edges  with  splendid  oaks;  and  if,  here 
and  there,  an  intrusive  "  store,"  has  pushed  its  glit- 
tering windows  to  the  very  pavement's  edge  the  town 
accepts  it  as  a  necessary  evil  and  is  the  more  zealous 
to  keep  less  worthy  magazines,  —  grocers,  butchers, 
livery-stables  and  feed-stores,  —  together  with  the 
dwellings  of  traders  and  the  servant  classes  rigorously 
in  the  limbo  of  muddy  lateral  thoroughfares. 

The  one  car-line  hi  Orbury  still  runs  horse-cars.  To 
be  more  accurate,  they  are  mule-cars,  and  the  drivers 
of  the  ancient  vehicles,  themselves  as  old  and  gray, 
are  speaking  acquaintances  with  every  passer  by. 


320  RED  HORSE  HILL 

Incidentally  they  are  the  errand  boys  and  special 
delivery  system  of  the  village. 

In  the  neighborhood  of  the  station,  —  (even  Orbury 
apathy  and  pride  failed  to  keep  the  railroad  at  a  re- 
spectful distance),  —  the  few  office  buildings  of 
the  community  raise  flat  red  brick  walls,  and  present 
to  the  street  front,  modern  windows  with  names,  well 
known  to  Southern  history,  printed  neatly  in  gold 
upon  the  crystal  surfaces.  To  these  offices,  each 
morning  at  an  hour  known  to  all,  the  professional 
men  and  financiers  of  the  town  repair,  those  at  a 
comparative  distance  patronizing  the  cars.  Should 
such  a  citizen  be  a  few  moments  late,  the  car  stops 
at  his  door  until  he  shall  have  had  time  to  put  on 
his  overcoat,  and  to  kiss  his  wife  and  children  an 
unhasting  good-by/ 

For  years,  old  Mrs.  Weldon's  shopping  has  been 
done  by  means  of  the  kindness  of  "  Old  Man  Jones," 

—  driver  and  conductor  in  one,  of  car  number  two, 

—  there  are  but  two  in  all, —  that  obliging  personage 
hurling  her  order,  verbally,  into  the  opened  doors  of 
Sparker,  Trout  and  Spam  as  he  goes  down  toward 
the  depot,  and,  on  his  return,  taking  the  parcel, 

—  large  or  small  as  the  case  may  be,  —  from  the 
hands,  likely  as  not,  of  one  of  the  members  of  the 
firm,  who  will  ask,  courteously,  "  And  how  does  the 
old  lady  seem  this  fine  morning?  "  or,  "  If  that  wool 
isn't  the  right  shade,  bring  it  back,  old  man,  and  we'll 
keep  on  trying  until  she  is  satisfied.    It  won't  do  to 
disappoint  M'is  Weldon !  " 

There  is  no  electricity  in  Orbury,  though  the  more 
progressive  citizens  threaten  it.  Kerosene  lamps 
and  wax  tapers  light  the  church,  the  court-house, 
and  the  colonial  hallways,  or  glimmer  feebly  at  the 
corners  of  the  streets.  More  marvellous  still,  there 
are  no  telephones.  To  this  innovation  the  good  dames 


MARTS  RETURNS  TO  ORBURY       321 

of  Orbury  have  turned,  literally,  a  deaf  ear.  Where 
would  be  the  charm  of  running  across  the  street 
to  tell  Mrs.  Kinney  that  one  has  just  had  a  letter 
from  New  York  telling  of  the  engagement  of  a  be- 
loved niece,  if  one  could  go,  as  well,  to  a  hideous 
small  box  fastened  to  the  wall  of  one's  chamber,  and, 
shrieking  into  an  unresponsive  aperture,  transmit 
the  news  on  wire?  Where  were  the  cheer,  then,  of 
the  kindling  eye,  —  the  friendly  thrill  at  words  of 
sweet  congratulation,  the  gentle  gossip  of  other  love 
affairs,  —  other  engagements,  —  perhaps  one's  own? 

Quite  out  toward  the  end  of  the  one  car-line  stands 
a  square  red  brick  mansion  with  white  porch  and 
"  trimmings,"  that  might  have  been  taken  up  bodily 
from  an  English  lawn  and  reset  here  among  box 
hedges  grown  for  its  reception.  Two  lines  of  the  dark, 
scented  shrub  stretch,  unbroken,  from  the  level  of 
the  verandah  floor,  to  the  old  white,  sagging  gate 
that  gives  down  upon  two  granite  steps  to  the  side- 
walk. The  long  brick  pathway  to  the  door  speaks 
eloquently,  indeed,  of  hospitality,  but  it  is  a  hos- 
pitality that  holds  reserves.  Only  an  aristocrat 
should  walk  between  box  hedges.  Beyond  the  box 
line,  east  and  west,  the  garden  lies.  Once  it  was 
orderly,  and  the  pride,  alike  of  its  owner,  and  the 
passer  by,  —  and  here  it  was  that  Maris  had  played 
and  dreamed  away  her  childhood.  But  even  she 
could  not  remember  when  the  beds  were  trim.  It 
was  her  young  mother  who  had  been  the  friend  of 
flowers,  and  after  her  death  the  husband  had  for- 
bidden any  but  their  child  to  wander  in  the  paths 
where  she  had  loved  to  walk. 

After  his  death,  twenty  years  later,  and  Maris' 
disappearance  from  the  ken  of  Orbury,  the  place  had 
changed  hands  twice,  and  each  time  the  new  owner 
had  made  a  desultory  attempt  to  clear  away  the  tangle 


322  RED  HORSE  HILL 

and  let  the  garden  bloom  again.  But  misfortune, 
like  a  permanent  shadow,  lay  across  the  old  home. 
It  was  now  taken  over  by  the  Misses  Timberlake, 
worthy  ladies  of  true  "  before  the  War  "  lineage, 
whose  own  pretty  cottage  had  literally  fallen  away 
above  their  heads.  Finding  themselves  compelled 
to  move,  and  having  been  offered,  at  a  rate  ludi- 
crously small,  the  old  Brue  house,  they  decided  upon 
a  revolutionary  step,  and  let  it  become  known  that 
they  were  willing  to  take  in  a  few  genteel,  paying 
guests. 

The  uprooting  and  reestablishing  of  the  Misses 
Timberlake  took  place  early  in  March,  during  the 
same  week  in  fact,  that  far  off,  in  modern  Sidon, 
Ruth  Alden  was  descending  upon  her  brother  and 
his  wife. 

The  two  maiden  ladies,  stiffened  by  years  of  petty 
habit,  still  drooped  in  the  shadows  of  the  great  Brue 
home.  They  had  not  had  the  heart,  as  yet,  to  explore 
each  corner  of  the  house,  much  less  of  the  wide  over- 
grown garden.  No  "  paying  "  guest,  genteel  or  other- 
wise had  lifted  the  great  brass  knocker  of  the  door, 
and  the  Misses  Timberlake  were  gradually  sinking  into 
gentle  despair  when  they,  together  with  the  rest 
of  "  old  "  Orbury,  were  electrified  by  the  news  of 
Dr.  Singleterry's  death,  and  his  expressed  desire  to 
be  interred  in  Orbury.  As  if  this  fact  alone  were  not 
enough  to  keep  Orbury  nerves  tingling  for  a  year, 
the  letter,  written  very  properly  to  the  present  en- 
cumbent  of  Dr.  Singleterry's  old  church,  the  Reverend 
Joseph  Carr,  was  signed,  in  unmistakable  chirog- 
raphy,  "  Maris  Brue  Alden." 

Next  day  a  second  letter  came  addressed,  this 
time,  to  Mrs.  Carr.  In  it  the  writer  said  that  she  had 
adopted  and  was  now  nursing  back  to  health  a  child 
who  had  been  injured  in  her  husband's  mill,  and  that, 


MARIS  RETURNS  TO  ORBURY       323 

within  a  few  weeks,  she  wished  to  bring  the  little 
girl  to  Orbury.  Mrs.  Carr's  good  offices  were  invoked 
to  find  a  suitable  lodging  place  for  them. 

The  funeral  of  Dr.  Singleterry  and  his  burial  in 
the  ivy-clad  church  were  solemnly  accomplished.  The 
Reverend  Mr.  Carr  sent  a  detailed  account  of  it  to 
the  vestry  of  St.  John's  hi  Sidon,  and  good  Mrs.  Carr 
an  even  longer  one  to  Maris.  In  closing  it  she  said, 
"  The  old  Brue  home  which  I  have  been  told  was 
yours  hi  childhood,  has  been  recently  taken  over 
by  the  Misses  Timberlake,  worthy,  Christian  women 
who  are  in  sadly  straitened  circumstances.  If  you 
have  no  feeling  against  residing  hi  your  old  home 
which  it  is  only  right  to  tell  you  is  terribly  in  need  of 
repair  it  will  be  a  great  pleasure  to  the  Misses  Timber- 
lake  to  have  you  as  well  as  of  the  most  substantial 
assistance  to  them." 

Mrs.  Carr  was  given  to  underscoring  adverbs,  and 
those  abstract  nouns  which  might  be  thought  to 
imply  moral  obligation.  In  the  present  missive  the 
word  "  assistance  "  received  two  horizontal  marks 
beneath. 

Days  passed,  and  no  answer  came  from  Maris.  The 
Reverend  Mr.  Carr  had  been  duly  thanked  and  praised 
by  Dr.  Singleterry's  late  parish.  And  now  his  worthy 
spouse,  slowly  bridling  at  the  implication  of  neglect 
wrote  again  to  Maris,  this  time  briefly,  and  with  what 
she  conceived  to  be  offended  dignity.  An  answer 
came  from  Ruth. 

"  DEAR  MRS.  CARR:  —  My  sister,  Maris  Alden,  is 
quite  seriously  ill.  Also  the  little  girl  of  whom  she 
wrote  is  not  doing  so  well  as  we  could  wish.  It  will 
certainly  be  some  weeks  before  either  of  them  is 
strong  enough  to  travel. 

"  In  the  meantime  I  have  no  hesitation  in  enga- 


324  RED  HORSE  HILL 

ging,  for  my  sister's  use,  two  rooms  with  southern  ex- 
posure in  the  old  Brae  mansion.  I  enclose  herewith 
my  personal  check  for  fifty  dollars  to  be  used  by  the 
Misses  Timberlake  in  getting  the  apartment  ready. 
"  Please  say  nothing  to  my  sister  of  this  money. 
It  is  a  small  gift  to  her  and  to  the  little  girl  whom  I, 
also,  have  come  to  love. 

"Very  truly  yours, 

"RUTH  ALDEN." 

This  letter,  read  and  re-read  by  various  old  friends 
of  Maris'  family,  added  sentiment  to  the  prevailing 
interest.  Orbury  literally  steeped  itself  in  sympathy. 
Maris'  illness  was  of  course  due  to  sorrow  at  old  Dr. 
Singleterry's  death,  and  to  the  overpowering  thought 
that  at  last  she  was  to  return  to  her  deserted  birth- 
place. Each  one  recalled,  though  at  first  she  did 
not  speak  it,  the  tragedy  that  had  led  to  Maris' 
flight. 

That  first  evening  after  Ruth's  letter  more  than  one 
old  lady  needed  to  take  sassafras  tea  before  retiring, 
and,  in  the  morning,  when  she  awoke  to  the  zest  of 
another  stirring  day,  the  twitter  of  sparrows  at  the 
eaves  sounded  like  the  summoning  roll  of  snare-drums. 

Little  else  was  discussed  in  drawing  rooms  and  over 
tea  tables.  Among  the  ladies,  —  and  the  number 
fortunately  included  the  Misses  Timberlake,  —  were 
several  who  recalled  the  bedchamber  where  Maris, 
as  a  child,  had  slept.  It  was  a  somewhat  small  wing 
room  opening  directly  from  the  one  where  her  father 
had  taken  refuge  from  too  poignant  memory,  after 
the  mother's  death.  Until  then  theirs  had  been  the 
large  front  chamber  overlooking  the  main  street. 
All  of  the  young  girl's  memories  must  have  been  as- 
sociated with  this  wing  room,  and  it  happened  that, 
with  the  loan  of  this  or  that  article  acquired  by  some 


MARIS  RETURNS  TO  ORBURY       325 

kindly  Orburian  purchaser  "for  a  song  "  at  the  dis- 
astrous Brue  auction,  the  furnishings  could  be  re- 
stored almost  intact.  That  one  should  refuse  to  lend 
for  such  a  purpose  was  beyond  the  reach  of  Orbury 
imagination. 

On  the  other  hand,  and  here  were,  indeed,  delicate 
points  for  discussion,  —  after  Maris'  defiant  marriage 
to  young  Martin,  and  Daniel  Brue's  prompt  forgive- 
ness of  the  thing  he  had  pre-threatened  never  to 
forgive,  the  young  couple  had  been  given  the  use 
of  the  closed  front  chamber.  In  it  the  baby,  Felicia, 
had  been  born,  and  here  for  a  few  months  at  least 
it  might  be  supposed  that  the  girl-wife  had  known 
something  resembling  happiness.  Whether  now  to 
allot  to  Mrs.  Alden  this  "  chief  guest-chamber," 
(for  so  the  new  owners  had  already  termed  it),  or 
to  place  her  in  the  smaller  room  among  the  loved 
environments  of  childhood,  —  these  were  the  alterna- 
tives that  consumed  more  time  and  tea  than  all  other 
questions  put  together. 

Finally  a  sort  of  compromise  was  reached.  Both 
chambers  were  to  be  reserved  for  Maris'  use,  but 
just  at  first  she  should  be  conducted  to  the  smaller 
one  only. 

In  such  ways  did  the  old  dames  conspire  for  Maris' 
benefit. 

Being  but  human,  if  altogether  kind,  it  was  inevi- 
table that  they  should  sometimes  whisper,  behind 
delicate,  upraised  hands,  of  "  that  low  fellow,  Martin," 
and  wonder  greatly  just  how  it  was  that  Maris  had 
finally  traced  him,  and  learned  of  his  death.  It  was 
well  known,  of  course,  to  all  of  them  that  she  had 
sacrificed  what  little  her  father  had  left  her  that  she 
might  pursue  the  guilty  pair,  and  reclaim  Felicia. 

The  fact  of  her  silence  had  hitherto  been  proof  to 
them  of  her  failure.  Now  that  she  had  reappeared  as 


326  RED  HORSE  HILL 

the  wife  of  another  man,  it  was  equally  patent  that 
James  Martin  was  no  more.  The  adoption  of  a  cotton 
mill  waif  bespoke  a  more  poignant  loss,  that  of  the 
baby  girl.  This  beautiful  charity,  —  so  said  the 
gentle  gossips,  —  was  doubtless  in  memory  of  Fe- 
licia. More  than  one  pair  of  kindly,  faded  eyes 
brimmed  at  the  thought  of  Maris'  return  under  con- 
ditions so  strangely  altered. 

During  Maris'  brief,  desperate  illness  consequent 
upon  the  interview  which  Dwight  had  forced,  the 
unhappy  man  spent  hours  of  such  torture  as  his  late 
fear  of  personal  disgrace  had  never  brought.  He 
made  no  pretense  of  interest  in  the  mill.  Buck  Mc- 
Ghee  was  gone,  and  this  was  no  time  to  search  out  a 
successor.  Dwight  finally  solved  the  difficulty  by 
shutting  down  the  mill,  cancelling  immediate  orders, 
and  keeping  on  the  employees  by  paying  them  half 
wages. 

He  still  retained  his  apartment  at  Putnam's  and  slept 
there,  knowing  it  was  what  Maris  would  have  wished; 
but  most  of  his  waking  time  was  spent  in  miserable 
wandering  about  the  rooms  and  hall  ways  of  the 
Brattle  house.  He  was  not  allowed  to  enter  his  wife's 
sick  chamber;  and  Harvey  had  let  him  know,  with 
brutal  frankness,  that  to  his  own  selfish  insistence  was 
due  Maris'  present  state  of  danger. 

It  had  proved  impossible  to  keep  all  knowledge 
of  the  mother's  illness  from  Felicia,  and  the  con- 
tinued fretting,  as  Ruth  had  written  to  Mrs.  Carr, 
brought  something  in  the  nature  of  a  relapse  to  the 
small  patient. 

Mercifully  for  Dwight  and  Felicia  too,  the  crisis 
came  early.  When  Harvey  was  able  to  say  to  his 
friend,  —  gripping  him  as  men  will  by  a  friendly 
shoulder,  "  Brace  up.  She's  going  to  pull  through," 


MARIS  RETURNS  TO  ORBURY       327 

Alden  reeled  as  if  in  sudden  intoxication,  and  then, 
sinking  into  a  chair,  covered  his  face,  and  broke  into 
the  long,  dry  terrible  sobs  that  are  the  supreme 
tribute  of  strength  to  an  overpowering  emotion. 

For  two  days  longer  he  remained  in  Sidon,  until 
he  could  be  sure  that  Maris  was  recovering  as  swiftly 
as  any  doctor  could  have  wished,  and  then,  with  the 
hearty  sanction  of  the  physician  and  of  Ruth,  went 
on  to  New  York  with  the  ostensible  purpose  of  en- 
gaging a  new  mill-manager,  but  really  to  put  himself 
beyond  the  temptation  of  seeing  Maris. 

As  the  invalid  grew  strong,  his  name  was  never 
spoken,  and,  taking  her  silence  for  a  cue,  the  others 
also  shunned  it. 

Felicia,  by  now,  was  on  her  feet.  A  memorable 
day  for  both  befell  when  the  child,  wrapped  about 
over  her  dainty  night-dress  with  a  kimono  dressing 
gown  splashed  faintly  with  great  pink  poppies,  a  huge 
ribbon  bow  of  the  same  shade  perched  like  a  tropic 
butterfly  at  one  side  of  her  shining  head,  came  into 
Maris'  room  on  Ruth's  guiding  arm. 

At  first  the  mother  could  only  stare,  bewildered. 
Then  she  drew  her  visitor  down  to  kiss  her,  and  held 
her  off  again,  that  she  might  see  more  clearly.  The 
child,  self-conscious,  shy,  ecstatic  with  the  knowledge 
of  her  own  prettiness  and  the  pleasure  it  was  giving 
"  Lady,"  could  only  droop  her  lids,  and  stand  there, 
smiling. 

Maris'  eyes  filled,  her  lips  seemed  to  move,  and 
Ruth  bent  far  over  to  hear  the  whispered  words, 
"  My  baby,  —  and  so  pretty,  —  so  pretty!  Even  the 
mill  has  not  been  able  to  blight  her  sweetness." 

With  her  established  convalescence  Maris'  desire 
to  get  away  to  Orbury  became  an  obsession.  Apart 
from  the  humiliating  fact  that  she  was  keeping 
Dwight  from  his  home,  she  wished  to  put  a  greater 


328  RED  HORSE  HILL 

distance  between  Felicia  and  the  degraded  pair  that 
she  still  thought  of  as  her  parents. 

Through  Ruth's  intelligent  investigations  she 
learned  that  they  had  left  the  mill  village  and  rented 
a  neat  cottage  in  the  residence  part  of  Sidon.  Here,  on 
a  very  different  variety  of  "  front  gallery "  Jim 
Winch,  attired  in  loud  "  store  clothes  "  and  seated 
in  a  large  red  rocking  chair  every  motion  of  which 
squeaked  with  newness,  passed  most  of  his  waking 
hours.  His  recovery  had  been  discouragingly  swift 
and  was,  apparently,  permanent.  Yet  it  suited  his 
purpose  to  be  considered  still  an  invalid.  As  such 
he  became  a  sort  of  oracle,  a  social  centre  for  other 
shirks  and  loafers,  and  was  wont  to  speak  at  times, 
movingly,  of  physical  suffering  heroically  endured, 
and  of  the  more  intimate  grief  known  to  a  father 
who  has  been  bereft  of  his  own  child  and  forced  into 
acquiescence  by  the  greed  of  a  tyrannical  wife.  At 
first  he  had  been  inclined  to  fury  against  Jane  for  her 
visit  to  Alden  and  the  sale  of  the  paper,  but  the  blunt 
edges  of  his  sentiment,  still  further  dulled  by  the 
bodily  comforts  which  Jane  heaped  about  him,  soon 
ceased  to  offer  resistance. 

To  the  woman,  this  was  a  period  of  comparative 
happiness.  Winch  had  not  yet  showed  any  desire 
to  return  to  drinking,  her  own  bondage  to  toil  was 
at  an  end,  and,  in  the  pleasures  of  a  real  home,  of  daily 
purchases,  and  the  furnishing  of  their  cottage,  the 
poor  stunted  soul  blossomed  like  a  desert  after 
ram. 

Harvey  had  about  decided  to  cast  in  his  fortunes 
with  the  south,  giving  special  attention  to  the  spread 
of  tubercular  diseases  among  mill  people.  No  date 
was  set  for  his  marriage  with  Ruth.  When  he  pleaded 
the  girl  would  not  listen.  "  We  are  too  selfishly 
happy  as  it  is,"  she  would  say.  "  How  can  we  think 


MARIS  RETURNS  TO  ORBURY   329 

of  marriage  when  poor  Dwight  and  Maris  are  so 
miserable?  " 

To  any  child  the  first  trip  on  a  train  is  an  event. 
To  the  small  Felicia  it  loomed  up  like  an  approaching 
miracle.  She  could  remember  being  dragged  about 
in  baggage  cars,  but  to  be  privileged  to  enter  that 
glittering,  great  wonder  known  as  a  "  Palace  Car," 
to  look  out  of  its  crystal  windows  as  she  had  seen 
other  little  girls  look,  —  to  be,  yes,  actually  to  be 
one  of  those  other  little  girls,  the  kind  that  wear  big 
ribbon  bows  and  have  short  white  dresses  of  em- 
broidery under  bright  travelling  coats,  —  this  thought 
was  so  incredible  that  Felicia  would  sometimes  have 
to  catch  her  breath  in  sharply,  and  hold  her  eyelids 
close  until  the  tremor  passed.  Above  all,  to  be 
taking  such  a  trip  with  "  Lady,"  —  just  she  alone 
with  "  Lady,"  that  gentlest,  sweetest,  most  heavenly 
of  beings  whose  dark  eyes  seemed  always  trying  to 
speak  a  love  that  no  mere  words  could  utter,  this 
was  the  climax  of  her  childish  happiness. 

Maris,  until  the  very  instant  of  starting,  had  been 
nervously  apprehensive  of  some  hostile  move  from 
Jane.  In  vain  Harvey  and  Ruth  assured  her  that 
for  self-interest  alone  the  woman  would  be  still.  She 
was  at  the  station  to  see  them  off,  pathetically  gaunt 
and  yellow  in  her  new,  cheap  finery.  She  made  no 
attempt  to  approach  them,  but  stood  in  the  back- 
ground, watching,  her  arms  folded,  an  inscrutable 
smile  wrinkling  the  corners  of  her  faded  eyes.  "  Thank 
heaven! "  Maris  involuntarily  exclaimed,  as  the  train, 
with  accelerating  motion,  swept  into  the  suburbs. 
Her  last  vision  of  Sidon  was  the  curving  crest  of 
Red  Horse  Hill,  the  scarred  sides  mounting  to  a 
ridge  of  early  summer  green. 

The  child,  whose  usual  mood  was  one  of  silence, 


330  RED  HORSE  HILL 

attempted  to  say  little  of  the  marvels  flying  past, 
only  now  and  again  Maris  would  feel  the  slight  form 
shiver,  or  the  finger  of  her  "  good  "  hand  twitch  con- 
vulsively, at  a  new  impression.  Maris  did  not 
encourage  conversation.  Felicia's  words  and  voice, 
particularly  in  excitement,  had  the  tang  of  the  "  poor 
white  trash."  The  other  passengers  must  surely  have 
wondered  at  hearing  these  pariah  accents  from  a  child 
so  perfectly  attired,  and  of  such  a  patrician  type  of 
beauty. 

Toward  the  late  afternoon  both  felt  fatigue.  Maris 
called  for  a  pillow  and  made  Felicia  lie  on  the  seat 
opposite.  Soon  the  little  face  was  calm  in  slumber. 
Maris  sat  on,  staring  out  into  the  now  deepening 
night.  In  a  few  more  hours  she  would  be  again  in 
Orbury,  she  and  Felicia.  How  would  things  seem  to 
her?  What  old,  remembered  faces  would  there  be? 
She  tried  to  picture  them,  but  each  had  in  it  some 
suggestion  from  which  she  shrank.  Well,  no  need, 
after  all,  for  vague  speculation;  in  another  hour  she 
would  be  among  realities. 

Resolutely  she  turned  her  thoughts  away  only 
to  find  them  creeping  back  to  her,  half  furtively, 
one  by  one.  The  porter  came  through  the  train 
with  small  step-ladder  and  taper,  lighting  all  lamps. 
The  radiance  given  was  scarcely  clear  enough  for 
reading,  yet,  slanting  against  the  window  glass  it 
blotted  out  the  misty  landscape.  She  leaned  back, 
closed  her  eyes,  and  tried  to  sleep;  but,  an  instant 
afterward,  smiled  to  herself  that  she  could  have 
thought  sleep  possible. 

She  sat  upright  again  the  better  to  fight  back  in- 
truding visions.  Felicia  stirred  restlessly.  The  train 
began  to  slacken  speed.  Maris  dragged  out  her 
watch.  No,  this  could  not  be  Orbury.  They  were 
still  within  thirty  minutes  of  the  scheduled  time. 


MARTS  RETURNS  TO  ORBURY       331 

The  train  stopped,  but  even  at  the  instant  of  pause  the 
engine  tooted  impatiently  as  if  to  say  it  had  drawn 
up  before  this  tiny  out-post  under  protest.  Maris 
pressed  her  face  close  against  the  pane  and  read  the 
station's  name,  "  Nevota."  She  had  known  it  well, 
and  often  in  childhood  had  been  here  with  her  father. 
Under  the  hard  blue  light  of  the  one  electric  lamp 
she  saw  an  old  negro  man  that  she  had  known.  The 
old  man  did  not  see  her.  Maris  could  not  have  told 
his  name,  but  the  sight  of  him  let  in,  as  through  a 
broken  door,  a  troop  of  memory  demons.  She  tried 
no  longer  to  control  them,  but  gave  herself  up  as 
prey.  There  was  a  certain  relief  in  her  abandonment. 

At  Orbury  quite  a  delegation  awaited  them.  Fa- 
miliar names  were  stated,  but  in  most  instances  Maris 
could  not  recall  them  quickly.  She  pleaded  for  her- 
self and  for  Felicia  their  recent  illness  and  the  fatigu- 
ing journey  of  the  day,  and  so  was  able  to  make 
prompt  escape.  Even  the  driver  of  the  ancient  cab 
had  known  her,  and  spoke  to  her  now  as  "  Miss  Maris," 
saying  that  he  "  sholy  used  to  love  her  paw,"  who  was 
as  "  good  a  white  man  as  ever  trod  de  path!  " 

The  Misses  Timberlake  were  at  the  door  of  the  old 
Brue  house  to  meet  her.  They  were  both  excited 
and  embarrassed  and  strove  to  hide  these  facts  by  an 
incessant  output  of  short,  broken  sentences,  "  My 
poor  dears—  '  " And  the  little  girl  —  "  "Welcome 
back,  dear  Maris ! "  "  It  must  seem  strange  to 
you  —  "  and  many  others,  as  if  a  flock  of  gray  moths 
of  speech  were  suddenly  released. 

A  fire  burned  in  the  open  hearth.  It  had  been 
lighted  three  hours  earlier,  and,  in  the  ensuing  agi- 
tation, no  one  had  thought  of  replenishing  it.  Maris 
ran  to  the  fire,  knelt,  and  with  gloved  hands  pushed 
two  log-ends  into  the  central  heat.  The  bright 
flame  answered  like  a  cheery  "Halloa!"  For  some 


332  RED  HORSE  HILL 

strange  reason  she  was  embarrassed  at  Felicia's 
presence.  She  dreaded  to  turn  about  and  see  the 
child's  small  face.  The  fire  had  become,  for  the 
instant,  her  one  friend  in  a  hostile  world. 

Almost  without  looking  she  had  recognized  the 
furniture  as  the  same  that  her  childhood  and  her 
young  womanhood  had  known.  It  strode  toward  her 
into  the  new  light,  dread  forms  from  a  previous 
existence.  The  childhood  that  it  had  sheltered  was 
the  childhood  of  a  dead  woman.  Maris  Alden  had 
no  right  to  it.  The  sense  of  isolation  grew  to  a 
nightmare  chill.  She  shivered  violently,  crouching 
down  close  to  the  flame. 

"  Lady,"  came  Felicia's  plaintive  voice.  "  Can't 
we  git  into  this  purty  bed  soon?  I'm  orful  tired." 

She  tended  the  child  mechanically,  soothing  her 
with  vague  gentle  words,  the  meanings  of  which 
she  could  not,  afterward,  have  recalled. 

When  the  small  traveller  was,  at  last,  in  bed,  and 
her  low,  regular  breathing  told  of  sleep,  the  fire  had 
again  sunken  to  a  mere  glow  of  coals. 

Maris  turned  from  the  bed,  faced  the  open  fire-place, 
and,  more  by  instinct  than  intelligent  design,  moved 
toward  a  spot  to  the  left  of  the  square,  protruding 
chimney,  where,  in  the  old  days  used  to  stand  a 
lidless  cedar-chest,  hard  bound  in  brass,  and  kept  al- 
ways filled  with  logs  of  hickory  or  of  oak. 

Mechanically  she  stooped,  and  put  out  her  hand, 
only  to  draw  back  with  a  feeling  of  rebuff.  No  box 
was  there. 

She  lighted  a  candle  and  made  a  more  systematic 
search.  There  was  no  chest  anywhere,  nor,  as  far  as 
Maris  could  see,  any  provision  for  a  store  of  wood. 
She  registered  a  vow  to  purchase,  next  day,  a  chest 
as  much  like  the  old  one  as  Orbury  could  furnish  her. 

By  this  the  room  was  growing  cold.    She  lighted  a 


MARIS  RETURNS  TO  ORBURY       333 

second  candle,  went  to  the  window  to  pull  down  the 
shade,  and,  finding  there  was  none,  retired  behind 
the  chimney  corner,  and  began  to  undress. 

Then  she  blew  out  the  candles  and  crept  into  the 
bed  beside  Felicia.  Until  the  gray  of  morning  she  lay 
stark  awake,  staring,  —  staring  upward. 

So,  after  eight  years  of  memorable  wandering,  did 
Maris  spend  a  night  in  Orbury. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-ONE 

TWO  CALLERS 

THE  good  folk  of  Orbury  having,  with  more  than 
friendly  courtesy,  accepted  and  established  Maris, 
now  withdrew  and  waited  for  their  guest  to  make 
the  first  tentative  move.  Had  she  been  poor  and 
friendless  they  would  have  flocked  to  her  with 
graceful  loans  and  offers  of  assistance  so  delicately 
devised  that  the  favor  of  acceptance  would  have 
seemed  that  of  the  giver.  But,  since  she  had  become 
the  wealthy  Mrs.  Dwight  Alden  of  New  York,  it 
behooved  the  true  Orburian  to  temporize. 

Thus,  for  the  first  week  and  more,  Maris  remained 
almost  a  stranger  in  the  town  of  her  birth.  The 
sense  of  bewilderment  which  had  enwrapped  her 
upon  arrival  still  clung  tenaciously.  In  one  point 
only  was  there  complete  reversal  of  her  initial  mood. 
Orbury  grew  to  be  the  unreality,  and  Felicia  the 
one  tangible  fact  in  an  existence  at  once  abnormal 
and  insecure.  She  clung  to  the  child  as  to  a  talis- 
man, and,  gradually,  through  her  innocent  com- 
panionship, began  to  exorcise  the  spectre  of  another 
childhood,  —  her  own,  —  from  which  she  shrank 
with  an  unreasoning  fear.  She  would  have  liked  to 
forget,  if  only  for  a  time,  all  that  had  preceded  her 
return  to  Orbury,  and  to  engross  herself  in  the  morn- 
ing lessons  now  given  to  Felicia  and  the  hints  as  to 
language  and  deportment  still  constantly  needed. 


TWO    CALLERS  335 

Felicia's  response  to  all  improvement  was  instanta- 
neous. In  conduct  she  seldom  forgot  a  point  that 
Maris  had  once  made  clear,  but  in  her  speech,  its 
grammatical  errors  and  the  drawling  hint  of  "  po' 
white  trash,"  she  and  Maris  found  a  more  subtle 
enemy.  Yet  even  in  this  the  change  for  the  better 
was  pronounced.  Apart  from  the  slight  nasal  in- 
tonation which,  at  last,  was  beginning  to  disappear, 
the  quality  of  the  child's  voice  was  like  her  mother's, 
soft,  vibrating,  and  of  a  contralto  sweetness  heard 
now  and  again  among  well-born  women  of  the  South. 

In  this  shy  opening  of  petals  so  nearly  blighted, 
Maris  could  have  found  partial  respite  even  from  tor- 
menting images  of  the  man  she  loved,  but  Felicia, 
with  the  perversity  of  childhood,  delighted  in  tales 
of  her  mother's  early  life,  and  was  never  weary 
of  asking  questions. 

"  Did  you  walk  right  here,  —  right  where  we're 
walkin',  Lady,  when  you  was  a  little  girl?  "  she  would 
ask,  as  they  paced  together  the  moss-spread  pathways. 
Or,  at  night:  "Sometimes  I  can't  hardly  sleep  for 
thinkin'  how  funny  it  is  you  was  born  in  this  very 
house,  an'  that  you  an'  me  has  come  here  together." 

"  Yes,  darling,"  Maris  answered  patiently,  "  it 
does  seem  very  strange,  but  you  must  try  not  to 
say  '  you  an'  me  has  come.'  It  is  '  you  and  I  have 
come.' ' 

"  Yes'm,"  said  Felicia  meekly,  while  Maris  ha- 
stened to  change  the  topic  of  conversation.  This 
did  not  serve  her,  for  in  the  midst  of  it  Felicia  burst 
forth,  impulsively:  "  I  do  wish,  Lady,  that  I  knowed, 
knewed,  I  mean,  —  that  I  knewed  where  I  was 
borned  at! " 

Mrs.  Joseph  Carr  called  early.  It  was  her  duty, 
and  the  call  was  typical  of  a  virtuous  duty  call. 


336  RED  HORSE  HILL 

No  accessory  was  lacking,  the  bland,  expressionless 
face,  black  gloved  hands  folded  decorously  in  a  swart 
silken  lap,  conversation  incessant,  innocuous,  kindly, 
and,  at  parting,  the  perfunctory:  "  Well,  my  dear, 
I  trust  you  will  have  a  pleasant,  if  a  quiet  visit  with 
us." 

Mrs.  Carr  was  one  of  those  estimable  women  who 
wear  their  goodness  like  an  ancestral  brooch.  No 
one  could  avoid  it  or  mistake  its  import.  Its  very 
presence  sounded  a  challenge  to  the  unanointed 
and  had  been  known  to  arouse  antagonism.  Mrs. 
Carr  prayed  loudly  at  each  service,  "  Lead  us  not 
into  temptation,"  an  unnecessary  personal  pre- 
caution, for  it  would  be  difficult  to  imagine  a  tempta- 
tion, however  inexperienced,  that  would  not  flee 
before  the  good  soul's  ponderous  approach.  Her 
stentorian  and  vibrating  responses  as  her  husband 
read  aloud  the  ten  commandments  were  spoken  of, 
by  the  ungodly,  as  laughable. 

Upon  the  occasion  of  this  parochial  call,  as  she 
would  have  termed  it,  Mrs.  Carr,  having  remained 
no  longer  and  ..no  shorter  a  time  than  was  exactly 
proper,  rose  to  take  her  departure.  Maris,  after  the 
Southern  fashion,  insisted  upon  going  out  to  the 
porch  with  her  and  was  standing  there  exchanging 
the  last  perfunctory  nothings  when  Felicia,  who 
had  been  playing  alone  in  the  garden,  saw  them 
and  ran  up  to  throw  an  adoring  arm  about  her 
mother. 

Mrs.  Carr  glanced  down,  her  face  still  plastered 
with  its  vapid  smile,  when  all  at  once  she  started, 
the  smile  cracked  and  fell,  and  it  was  with  difficulty 
the  good  soul  restrained  a  cry  of  surprise.  The 
resemblance  between  the  small  upturned  face  and 
that  of  Maris  was  astonishing,  to  say  the  least. 
Maris  flushed  and  pressed  the  child  closer.  In  a. 


TWO    CALLERS  337 

moment  the  visitor  had  recovered  her  usually  im- 
pregnable self-confidence.  She  leaned  to  touch  the 
little  cheek  with  a  thick,  gloved  forefinger,  and  to 
give  permission  "some  of  these  nice  days,"  to  have 
Felicia  call  at  the  rectory  and  play  with  "  my  little 
girl" 

Maris  and  Felicia  stood  together  in  silence,  watch- 
ing the  broad,  amiable  back  slowly  recede  between 
the  lines  of  box.  Somehow,  with  all  its  sheen  of 
silk,  it  was  not  a  back  for  box  hedges.  The  fully 
gathered  skirt  sagged  a  little  under  the  black  spangled 
belt,  and  the  silken  collar,  pinned  at  the  nape  of 
a  round,  red  neck,  had  failed  to  join  exactly. 

When  she  reached  the  gate  and,  after  a  last  munifi- 
cent wave  of  the  hand,  stepped  down  to  the  level 
of  the  pavement,  Maris  bent  to  kiss  the  child's  cheek 
just  where  the  righteous  forefinger  had  touched  it 
and  said:  "  Run  up-stairs  for  our  two  hats,  chicken. 
There  is  a  friend  I  want  to  visit." 

Felicia  went  like  a  small  whirlwind.  She  did  not 
pause  to  question.  To  be  with  "  Lady  "  was  always 
happiness  enough;  to  go  forth  with  her  to  whatever 
destination  little  short  of  rapture. 

Arm  in  arm  they  passed  out  into  the  stately  street 
where,  turning  sharply  to  the  left  and  walking  toward 
"  town,"  they  soon  came  to  an  ivy-grown  church 
set  in  the  midst  of  a  wide,  green  churchyard.  An 
iron  fence  ran  about  three  sides  of  the  enclosure. 
At  the  rear  stretched  a  high  brick  wall,  and,  just 
behind  it,  a  little  to  the  left,  the  small  paned  windows 
and  high  gables  of  "  The  Rectory."  To  Maris'  girl- 
hood this  house  had  always  been  merely,  "  Dr.  Single- 
terry's  house."  She  could  not  then  have  realized 
the  continued  existence  of  the  place,  or  of  the  old 
church  either,  apart  from  that  benign  and  hospitable 
spirit.  She  thought  now,  sadly,  of  the  vanished 


338  RED  HORSE  HILL 

row  of  artichokes  once  silvering  the  farther  shadows 
of  the  old  church  wall  (Mrs.  Carr  had  boasted  of  a 
line  of  cannas  that  now  flourished),  and  of  the  fra- 
grant whirl  of  pinks  once  rioting  beneath  the  study 
windows. 

Of  these  things  she  said  nothing  to  Felicia,  but 
continued  to  lead  her,  in  silence,  toward  the  one  new- 
made  mound  of  earth.  The  grass  ran  scantily  upon 
it.  Maris  stood  gazing  down.  After  a  while  she 
said:  "This  is  the  friend  I  spoke  of.  Under  this 
place  is  all  that  God  has  left  to  us  of  the  dear  minister 
you  knew  in  Sidon,  Dr.  Singleterry." 

Felicia  attempted  no  reply,  but,  since  she  was 
usually  slow  in  speaking,  Maris  failed  to  notice  the 
fact.  A  little  later  she  added:  "We  must  plant 
some  clove-pinks  here,  darling,  you  and  I.  And, 
maybe,  if  things  go  well  with  us,  we  can  some  day 
set  a  white  stone  to  his  memory." 

A  small  sob  answered  her.  Turning  swiftly  Maris 
saw  that  the  child's  face  was  twitching,  her  small 
brows  were  drawn  together  in  a  spasm  of  repression, 
and  that  it  was  with  difficulty  she  held  back  an 
hysterical  attack  of  tears. 

"Why,  my  darling  baby!"  cried  Maris,  kneeling 
that  she  might  hold  the  shaking  little  figure  close, 
"  I  did  not  know  that  it  would  trouble  you  so  much. 
I  thought  you  would  like  to  come  to  this  peaceful 
green  spot  with  me." 

"Nome,  —  I  don't!"  sobbed  Felicia,  hiding  her 
face  against  Maris'  neck.  "I  don't  like  buryin' 
grounds  and  dead  folks.  They  make  me  skeered. 
Them  little  buryin'  grounds  of  children  down  in 
Sidon  used  to  git  into  my  head  at  night,  so's  I  could 
not  sleep.  I  thought  I  would  have  to  be  planted 
in  one  o'  them  some  day,  an'  every  time  I  felt  sick 
and  dizzy  I  used  to  dream  of  them.  Oh,  they  was 


TWO    CALLERS  339 

terrible!  No  grass  or  trees,  or  nothin'  purty,  jes' 
humps  of  red  clay.  Sometimes  they  put  a  little 
wooden  plank  wid  your  name  on  it,  but  that  got 
rotten  and  fell  down." 

Maris  shuddered,  and  clasped  the  child  with  such 
convulsive  tenderness  that  she  cried  out  with  the 
pain.  "  Come,  let  us  go  away,"  said  Maris,  and  they 
hurried  out  without  a  backward  look. 

The  strong  physical  likeness  between  Mrs.  Alden 
and  her  protege  had,  of  course,  been  noted  by  others 
than  Mrs.  Joseph  Carr.  The  Misses  Timberlake, 
for  instance,  had  exchanged  alert  glances  over  the 
first  breakfast  table  to  which  Maris  and  the  child  had 
come.  And  the  name,  "  Felicia,"  was  such  an  un- 
usual one!  This  coincidence  was  too  much  for  credu- 
lity, and  the  fact  could  only  be  explained  by  a  re- 
naming of  the  rescued  mill  waif  in  memory  of  Maris' 
own  lost  child.  Unless  —  unless  —  Well,  there  are 
some  things  at  which  even  fireside  speculation  must 
hesitate. 

Before  many  days  the  elder  and  more  intrepid 
Miss  Timberlake  summoned  up  courage  to  ask 
whether  their  conjecture  as  to  the  re-naming  of  the 
child  were  not  correct;  to  which  Maris,  with  pain 
and  humiliation  in  her  heart,  but  also  with  a  glow 
of  something  that  resembled  happiness  because 
she  bore  this  added  sting  for  Dwight,  answered 
"  Yes." 

Emboldened  by  her  sister's  bloodless  victory,  the 
younger  Miss  Timberlake,  she  of  the  low,  round 
collars  and  the  curls,  hastened  to  inquire,  in  a  shy, 
half-frightened  way,  whether  it  was  Maris'  intention 
permanently  to  adopt  Felicia.  The  very  timidity 
of  the  small,  new  onslaught  was  exasperating,  and 
Maris  replied,  more  curtly  perhaps  than  she  intended: 


340  RED  HORSE  HILL 

"  I  shall  never  give  up  the  child,  if  that  is  what  you 
mean." 

The  younger  Miss  Timberlake  shrank  like  the  leaf 
of  a  sun-dew,  and,  at  the  following  meal,  bore  an  air 
of  pensive  injury.  Maris  did  not  mistake  the  semi- 
hostile  attitude,  but  she  was  powerless  to  alleviate  it. 
The  promise  given  to  Dwight  made  it  imperative 
that  she  should  repel  curiosity.  For  this  the  only 
weapon  was  reserve. 

Mrs.  Carr's  report  of  her  visit  had  not  been  alto- 
gether favorable.  "  No,"  she  replied  thoughtfully 
when  questioned,  "  I  can't  say  that  she  was  exactly 
what  you  would  call  '  stuck-up.'  She  scarcely  would 
have  attempted  airs  with  me  !  On  the  other  hand  — 
here  she  paused  to  feed  upon  the  eagerness  of  listening 
eyes  —  "I  should  not  have  called  her  gushing.  Yes, 
that's  it;  she  was  polite  but  not  gushing,  —  not 
free  and  open-hearted  like,  —  well,  —  like  ourselves 
who  have  not  married  rich  Northern  gentlemen. 
To  be  candid  —  "  here  came  a  second  pregnant  pause, 
"  she  gave  me  the  impression  of  a  person  who  was 
ill  at  ease.  Now  understand,"  she  supplemented 
quickly,  a  warning  forefinger  upraised,  "  I  don't 
say  that  she  is  ill  at  ease.  You  all  know  that  I  never 
say  unkind  things  about  others,  and,  in  this  case, 
I  may  be  entirely  in  the  wrong.  I  only  say  that  this 
was  my  impression,  and  that  I  may  be  wrong."  There 
was  an  indefinable,  self-righteous  inflection  on  the 
word  "  may,"  and,  in  response  to  it,  one  listener,  old 
Mrs.  Trout,  croaked  sepulchrely,  hi  this  way  vent- 
ing her  belief  that  Mrs.  Carr  was  not  wrong  in  her 
impression.  Mrs.  Trout,  whose  first  name  was 
"  Maria,"  had  gained  from  the  youthful  and  irrever- 
ent of  Orbury  the  cognomen  of  '*  Black  Maria." 
She  was  never  out  of  mourning,  though  the  cause 
of  her  black  draperies  remained  obscure,  and  her 


TWO    CALLERS  341 

dissemination  of  scandal  was  proverbial.  In  a  short 
time  the  word  went  broadcast  that  Maris  was  not 
particularly  cordial  to  Orbury  visitors,  and  that 
she  acted  as  one  who  had  unpleasant  secrets  to  con- 
ceal. The  Misses  Timberlake  were  approached,  and 
while  the  elder  charitably  attempted  to  deflect  the 
tide  of  suspicion,  the  younger  shook  from  her  curls 
the  last  hope  of  popular  dissent. 

Maris,  always  sensitive  to  the  moods  of  others, 
knew  well  how  the  haze  of  mistrust  was  deepening. 
Already  she  felt  herself  and  Felicia  as  beings  set 
apart.  Soon  the  vague  mystery  would  change,  in 
the  mind  of  Orbury,  to  positive  dislike.  She  and  the 
child  were  being  gently,  relentlessly  isolated,  and 
the  only  bond  between  themselves  and  their  fellow 
townsmen  and  women  would  be  the  vulgar  and  de- 
tested one  of  money.  The  Misses  Timberkke  would 
not  turn  them  out,  of  course.  Maris'  large  monthly 
payments  would  bring  the  assurance  of  many  years 
of  comfort  to  the  good  ladies;  besides,  apart  from 
the  question  of  payment,  there  was  no  ground  for 
open  expulsion.  It  was  all  invisible,  insidious,  not 
to  be  combatted.  Mrs.  Carr  would  doubtless  keep 
her  promise  of  "having  them  both  to  tea,"  and 
the  minister  would  make  Christian  visits  at  de- 
corous intervals.  People  would  speak  kindly  on 
the  street,  but  the  inner  heart  of  Orbury  would  be 
closed  to  them.  The  old  sense  of  helplessness  bore 
down  upon  Maris.  At  times  something  like  despera- 
tion seized  her.  She  longed  to  rush  out  among  the 
narrow,  good,  lovable  women  and  cry  aloud  to 
them:  "  Don't  turn  your  hearts  from  me.  I  need 
you,  oh,  so  sorely.  I  am  just  Maris  Brue,  —  not  Mrs. 
Dwight  Alden  of  New  York.  I  long  to  tell  you  all  of 
my  sad  life,  to  take  up  the  past  with  you  from  the 
day  I  went  forth  in  a  madness  of  grief  from  Orbury. 


342  RED  HORSE  HILL 

I  have  done  wrong,  but  I  have  suffered  greatly. 
You  would  forgive  me  if  I  could  let  you  know  it  all." 

For  a  few  weeks  more  the  wretched  strain  con- 
tinued. Felicia,  free  from  subtleties,  romped  in  the 
prim  old  garden  and  began  to  glow  with  a  delicate 
pink  such  as  one  sees  in  a  cyclamen  bud;  while, 
on  the  other  hand  Maris,  it  would  seem,  lost  the 
vitality  that  the  child  was  gaining.  She  went  no 
more  to  the  green  churchyard,  and  made  no  effort 
to  return  the  few  visits  paid  her  by  old  friends  of  the 
family. 

Her  life  and  Felicia's  now  centred  in  the  garden. 
She  had  asked  and  obtained  from  the  Misses  Timber- 
lake  the  somewhat  grudging  permission  to  attempt 
restoration  of  this  once  loved  spot.  The  tangled 
rose  trees  and  the  age-black  yews  were  trimmed. 
Moss-covered,  crumbling  bricks  at  border  edges  were 
replaced  and  the  sunken  walks  filled  in  and  graded. 
It  became  a  sad  satisfaction  to  the  unhappy  woman 
to  reset,  as  far  as  possible,  such  plants  as  her  earlier 
days  had  known.  This  was  a  difficult  problem  since 
modern  florists  know  and  care  little  about  damask 
roses,  and  fragrant  "  ambrosia  "  bushes.  In  many 
cases  Maris  was  ignorant  of  the  very  names  of  the 
plants  she  most  desired  to  obtain.  Had  things  been 
different  between  herself  and  the  garden-loving 
folk  of  Orbury,  she  would  have  begged  a  "  layer  " 
here,  a  "  cutting  "  there,  until,  in  the  sweet  genealogy 
of  village  flowers  she  would  have  eventually  renewed 
her  garden  with  shrubs  transmitted  through  the 
years  and  taken  from  the  original  Brue  planting. 

But  all  this  was  denied  her.  Money  bought  hired 
labor  and  had  power  to  send  down  from  the  North 
great  boxes  packed  with  rare,  growing  plants,  — 
for  in  this  one  respect  was  Maris  extravagant,  — 
but  it  could  not  command  the  friendly  interest  that 


TWO  CALLERS  343 

means  so  much  to  a  worker  in  a  beloved  garden,  nor 
arouse  a  feeling  of  personal  pride  in  the  result  among 
the  somewhat  critical  onlookers.  There  was  curiosity, 
of  course,  regarding  this  new  whim  of  the  rich  woman 
who  had  once  been  Maris  Brue,  but  curiosity  is  an 
arid  substitute  for  friendly  interest. 

It  was,  at  last,  old  Mrs.  Weldon  who  came  forward 
as  Maris'  aid  and  champion.  This  old  dame  had  been, 
for  years,  a  local  character.  Born  in  a  New  England 
coast  town,  she  had  married,  a  few  years  before  the 
outbreak  of  the  Civil  War,  an  easy  going,  gentle 
young  Southern  farmer.  She  had  left  her  part  of 
the  world  for  his,  determining  to  be  not  only  his 
helpmate,  but  an  ardent  worker  in  the  cause  of 
abolition.  This  in  itself,  at  such  a  time,  was  enough 
to  insure  social  ostracism.  At  the  close  of  the  long, 
bitter  struggle  she  was  heard  to  say,  publicly,  that 
defeat  was  the  best  thing  that  could  possibly  happen 
to  the  South,  and  that  now  North  Carolina,  together 
with  the  rest  of  America,  could  at  last  enter  upon 
a  civilized  existence. 

Plain  speaking  is  always  a  dangerous  luxury,  and 
Mrs.  Weldon  paid  the  full  price.  Her  indignation 
at  subsequent  carpet-bagging  atrocities  did  but  little 
to  allay  the  antagonism  she  had  aroused.  But  neither 
she  nor  her  husband  allowed  the  hostile  attitude 
to  embitter  life.  The  farm  was  still  theirs  to  be 
worked  upon  and  improved.  The  Weldons  were  the 
first  in  that  section  of  the  country  to  introduce  new 
methods  of  farming  and  to  employ  negroes  at  daily 
wages. 

For  twenty  years  they  not  only  made  agriculture 
"  pay,"  but  had  added  steadily  to  their  acreage 
of  pasture-land,  and  had  set  new  trees  in  orchards. 
It  was  known  that  the  Weldons  "  prospered."  The 


344  RED  HORSE  HILL 

couple  were  seldom  seen  in  Orbury.  Their  farm  was 
seven  miles  away,  and  near  it  was  a  small  Methodist 
church  to  which  they  went  each  Sunday.  Even  here 
they  seldom  lingered  among  their  neighbors  for  a 
chat.  As  old  sectional  bitternesses  began  to  fade, 
more  than  one  shy  overture  of  friendship  was  made 
to  them,  but  they  seemed  to  care  little  for  a  change 
in  their  social  status.  Soon  it  was  said  of  them  that 
"  Jake  Weldon  and  that  Yankee  wife  of  his'n  were 
so  plum  crazy  about  each  other  that  they  didn't 
keer  'bout  seein'  no-body  else! " 

This  rumor,  as  it  happened,  was  absolutely  true. 
The  Weldons  bore  no  resentment  against  those  who 
had  slighted  them,  but  they  no  longer  needed  com- 
panionship. The  marriage  had  not  brought  chil- 
dren and  the  husband  and  wife,  thrown  so  closely 
upon  each  other,  had  found  complete  fulfilment  of 
all  needs.  Their  tastes  were  identical  and  the  long 
habit  of  love  and  of  common  interests  held  them  to- 
gether with  indestructible  bonds.  Such  people 
are  not  introspective,  and  Sarah  Weldon  had  not 
realized,  until  her  husband's  sudden  death  at  fifty, 
how  absolutely  she  had  merged  her  life  in  his. 

In  one  week  she  was  changed  from  a  vigorous, 
erect  woman  into  a  stricken,  white-haired  invalid, 
whom  it  was  sadness  even  to  look  upon.  She  was 
never  heard  to  complain,  but  her  health,  once  unas- 
sailable, began  to  give  way  at  every  point.  Malady 
after  malady  visited  her,  and  each  exacted  its  full 
toll  of  strength.  Her  physicians  declared  that  the 
most  baffling  symptom  was  her  voiceless  desire  to 
die.  Her  nature  was  too  sane  to  resort  to  self-de- 
struction, but  it  is  true  that  life  seemed  to  her,  for 
many  years,  a  loathed  obstruction  holding  her  back 
from  peace. 

She  sold  the  splendid  farm  for  a  fair  profit,  in- 


TWO  CALLERS  345 

vesting  part  of  the  proceeds,  and  with  part  buying 
a  small  cottage  at  the  very  end  of  the  one  street  car 
line  of  Orbury.  For  years  she  had  never  crossed 
the  limits  of  her  own  little  garden.  A  terrible  attack 
of  muscular  rheumatism  had  left  her  permanently 
lame.  Passers-by  could  see  her  hobbling  about 
this  garden,  pausing  to  loop  back  a  wandering  vine, 
or,  sometimes,  stooping  painfully  to  examine  the 
growth  of  some  new  plant. 

But  even  the  most  desolating  grief,  if  one  live  at 
all,  must  soften  gradually  under  the  healing  touch 
of  the  recurrent  seasons.  Spring,  Summer,  Autumn, 
and  the  brief  pause  of  Winter,  —  each  calms  us  as 
with  the  stroke  of  a  great,  divine  and  gentle  hand, 
and,  as  each  one  vanishes,  the  sorrowing  heart 
whispers  to  itself:  "  Another  season  has  somehow 
passed.  I  am  still  here.  I  have  lived  through  this, 
and  will  live  through  others,  if  God  wills  it  so."  In  this 
way  it  came  about  that  '  Old  M'is'  Weldon,'  as  she 
was  now  generally  called,  began  to  take  an  interest 
in  the  infrequent  visits  of  her  neighbors,  and,  in 
time,  to  urge  them  to  come  oftener.  She  never 
became,  in  the  usual  sense,  a  gossiper,  and  that 
ugly  changeling,  scandal,  never  found  a  nook  in 
Mrs.  Weldon's  ear.  Black  Maria,  otherwise  Mrs. 
Trout,  dared  not  air  her  unlovely  freight  in  Mrs. 
Weldon's  presence,  though  she  found  at  times  a 
precarious  joy  in  whisking  the  draperies  aside.  Mrs. 
Weldon  had  been  known  to  protest,  impatiently: 
"  What  do  I  care  whether  or  not  Amanda  Paget 
has  turned  her  blue  alpaca!  Tell  me  whether  she's 
keeping  up  that  voice  of  hers,  after  her  Grandpa 
stinted  himself  to  give  her  a  year's  trainin'  up  to 
Baltimore." 

To  a  deepening  and  always  kindly  insight  into  the 
human  lives  immediately  about  her,  she  added  an 


346  RED  HORSE  HILL 

ever-growing  appreciation  of  the  bigness  and  won- 
der of  the  outer  world,  and  was  eager  to  read  of 
the  events  that  leave  their  marks  on  the  centuries. 
She  subscribed  to  various  magazines,  and  what 
books  she  bought  were  worth  buying.  It  was  said 
that  she  knew  something  about  everything,  and, 
in  truth,  at  the  time  of  Maris'  sojourn  in  Orbury, 
the  old  lady  was  as  well  informed  concerning  the 
Chinese  Dynasty  and  its  chances  of  succession,  as 
to  the  progress  of  the  measles  among  the  Potts 
children  down  the  road. 

During  the  first  weeks  of  Maris'  stay,  while  con- 
jectures flew  about  like  a  sprightly  game  of  shuttle- 
cock, Mrs.  Weldon  had  been  sparing  both  as  to 
questions  and  comments,  but  it  was  noticed  that 
her  interest  never  flagged  when  Maris  was  the  topic 
of  conversation.  At  the  height  of  the  adverse  criti- 
cism, Mrs.  Trout,  unable  longer  to  conceal  so  choice 
a  morsel,  whispered  in  Mrs.  Weldon's  ear  her  sus- 
picions as  to  Felicia's  true  parentage.  To  the  speak- 
er's astonishment,  her  listener,  instead  of  snapping 
out  the  expected  reproof,  thought  intently  for  a 
moment,  and  then  asked:  "  Does  Mrs.  Alden  take 
the  child  to  church?  " 

"  Yes,  every  Sunday,  —  but  —  but  —  "  the  other 
gasped,  when  she  could  recover  sufficient  speech, 
"  what's  that  to  do  with  what  I  was  saying?  Why, 
actually,  the  younger  Miss  Timberlake  tells  me  —  " 

"  I  don't  care  to  hear  what  Bessie  Timberlake 
told  you.  She  is  a  simpering  idiot,"  said  Mrs.  Weldon 
with  decision.  "And  I  prefer  not  to  discuss  Mrs. 
Alden  any  more  just  now.  How  are  your  pole-beans 
growing?  I  heard  you  had  planted  a  row  in  the 
place  where  you  always  had  scarlet  runners.  For 
myself,  I  wouldn't  consider  the  change  an  improve- 
ment." 


TWO  CALLERS  347 

Next  Sunday  old  M'is  Weldon  was  in  church.  It 
was  the  fourth  Sunday  after  Marls'  coming,  and  she, 
as  Mrs.  Trout  had  said,  was  a  regular  attendant. 
Visual  curiosity  having  had  already  four  full  meals 
from  the  Brue  pew  was  the  more  eager  to  turn  and 
batten  upon  Mrs.  Weldon.  After  her  long  life  in 
Orbury,  this  was  literally  her  first  visit  to  the  aristo- 
cratic Episcopal  church.  Indeed,  since  her  hus- 
band's death,  she  had  gone  to  no  church.  People 
had  become  used  to  the  thought  that  she  was  em- 
bittered by  her  great  grief,  and  was  not  amenable 
to  the  consolations  of  religion.  This  heresy  had  been 
tacitly  forgiven,  and  now  the  sudden  appearance 
of  the  valiant  old  lady,  demure  and  at  ease  in  then* 
pious  midst,  made  even  the  worthy  Mr.  Carr  bungle 
his  reading  of  the  first  lesson. 

On  the  Tuesday  afternoon  following  this  memo- 
rable Sabbath  day,  Maris  and  Felicia  in  the  garden,  as 
usual,  were  kneeling  side  by  side  on  a  tattered  strip 
of  matting,  talking  and  setting  out  violet  bushes. 
At  first  every  motion  that  Maris  gave  was  faithfully 
copied  by  the  apprentice.  The  child's  love  for  nature 
and  for  garden  work  was  sincere  and  instinctive. 
Soon  Maris  noted  that  the  fingers  of  Felicia's  left 
hand  were  still  far  from  being  equal  to  the  task  now 
imposed,  and,  with  a  mother's  tact,  she  suggested 
a  division  of  labor,  —  Felicia  to  precede  her  along  the 
matting  with  a  trowel  and  dig  holes,  while  she,  Maris, 
followed  with  the  pigmy  bushes.  This  went  on  in 
silence  for  moments,  then  Felicia  paused,  and  straight- 
ened herself  to  look  complacently  backward  down  the 
long  growing  line  of  green.  Her  eyes  happened  to 
fall  upon  Maris'  grimy  hands.  She  gazed  at  them 
steadily  then,  with  a  hurt  intonation,  said:  "  Lady, 
your  hands  is  awful  black.  I  never  seen  —  never 
saw  them  dirty  before." 


348  RED  HORSE  HILL 

"  Oh,  that  is  nothing,"  laughed  Maris.  "  They'll 
wash.  And  flowers,  you  know,  don't  like  it  if  you 
wear  gloves  to  plant  them.  They  think  you're 
snobbish,  and  then  they  won't  grow  for  you." 

Felicia's  small  brows  knitted  with  the  burden  of 
this  thought,  then  slowly  her  face  cleared.  "  I 
reckon  that's  so,"  she  said.  "  Ef  I  was  a  flower,  I 
wouldn't  like  it.  An'  Lady,"  she  added  shyly,  "  these 
here  vi'lets  sholy  ought  to  be  big  an'  sweet,  when 
it's  yo'  hands  is  gettin'  dirty  plantin'  them." 

"You  darling!"  said  Maris,  and  smiled  at  her 
in  the  way  that  made  Felicia  tremble  with  the  pure 
joy  of  it.  "  You  don't  think  there  is  anybody  quite 
like  '  Lady/  do  you?  " 

"  And  there  ain't  —  there  isn't,  —  not  no-body  —  " 
Felicia  began,  excitedly,  when  the  sound  of  the  gate 
latch  caused  both  gardeners  to  turn. 

The  white  head  and  widow's  bonnet  of  Mrs. 
Weldon  rose  above  the  hedge.  She  seemed  to  be 
looking  toward  Maris,  but,  not  recognizing  her, 
Maris  stooped  over  the  violets  as  Felicia  had  just 
done. 

The  slow  shuffling  steps,  and  the  click,  click  of 
a  brass-shod  cane  sounded  slowly  up  the  long  brick 
walk.  Unconsciously  the  two  workers  listened  for 
its  reverberation  on  the  porch-flooring,  and  then 
a  passing  into  the  house;  but  no,  it  had  turned,  and 
was  coming  into  the  garden  toward  them.  "  Tap, 
tap,  tap,"  on  the  new-gravelled  paths,  "  just  like 
a  great  big  woodpecker,"  whispered  the  child. 

Maris  sprang  up,  her  cheeks  flushing  with  the 
surprise,  her  soil-stained  hands  held  out  a  little 
ruefully.  As  she  advanced,  she  looked,  now  at  her 
hands,  now  at  the  visitor,  and  said:  "  I  am  very  glad 
to  see  you.  I  can't  shake  hands,  they  are  so  dirty. 
You  see,  I've  been  digging." 


TWO  CALLERS  349 

Mrs.  Weldon  smiled.  "That's  all  right.  Dirt 
from  a  garden  is  better  than  shaking  hands  with 
anybody.  I  am  Mrs.  Weldon,  —  '  Old  M'is  Weldon  ' 
they  call  me  now.  I  knew  your  mother  in  her  girl- 
hood. I've  come  now  to  see  you  and  little  Felicia." 

"  I  thank  you  for  coming,"  said  Maris.  "  Shall 
we  go  indoors,  or  —  "  she  turned  to  wave  a  grimy 
hand  toward  the  garden,  letting  the  gesture  speak 
for  her. 

"  Out  here.  I  didn't  call  upon  the  Misses  Timber- 
lake.  There  is  something  special  that  I  have  to  say 
to  you.  Is  there  not  an  old  bench  about  here,  some- 
wheres?  " 

She  looked  about.  "  Yes,"  said  Maris.  "  It  is  over 
there  at  the  end  of  a  narrow  pathway.  There  used 
to  be  an  arbor  covered  with  roses." 

"  I  remember  it,"  said  Mrs.  Weldon. 

Maris  walked  slowly  on  beside  her  guest.  A  thrill 
of  something  that  resembled  apprehension  passed 
through  her.  She  had  heard  much  of  the  indomi- 
table courage  of  the  old  dame.  She  glanced  up  just 
a  little  timidly.  Mrs.  Weldon  gazed  straight  before 
her.  The  strong  old  face  with  its  deep  lines  of  pain 
under  the  thread-white  hair,  had  the  look  of  a  snow- 
touched  cliff  fronting  an  eternal  sea.  At  least  there 
would  be  no  idle  curiosity,  no  petty  personal  satis- 
factions derived  from  the  questions  she  might  ask. 
Maris  drew  herself  together.  Catechism  from  this 
source  were  formidable  indeed. 

"  Mrs.  Alden,"  began  the  other,  directly  they  were 
seated,  "  nearly  fifty  years  ago  I  first  came  into  this 
state  of  yours.  I  have  never  since  been  out  of  it. 
I  feel  now  as  if  it  were  mine  as  much  as  the  native 
born,  —  but  my  first  experiences  were  not  pleasant. 
Among  those  trying  first  years  the  brightest  thing 
I  can  recall,  —  next  to  my  dear  husband's  love,  - 


350  RED  HORSE  HILL 

was  the  friendship  of  a  young  girl."  She  paused. 
"  Can  you  not  imagine  who  I  mean?  " 

"  It  must  have  been  my  mother/'  answered  Maris, 
her  own  eyes  beginning  to  glow. 

"  Yes,  and  it  is  for  her  sake  that  I  have  come,  — 
hers  and  her  little  namesake  there,  —  Felicia,"  she 
nodded  slightly  toward  the  child,  "  that  I  have  been 
forward  enough  to  come." 

Maris'  heart  began  to  flutter.  She  twisted  her 
hands  together,  and  yet  she  found  no  answer  ready. 
"  I  thought  I  had  guessed  your  secret,"  said  Mrs. 
Weldon  in  a  lower  tone.  "  Now  I  am  sure  of  it! " 
Maris  went  white.  She  leaned  back  a  little,  and  as 
if  to  cover  her,  the  older  woman  bent  forward  and 
called  out  to  Felicia:  "  Felicia,  child.  Will  you  please 
gather  me  a  little  nosegay  of  those  pale  roses  over  in 
that  corner?  "  She  pointed  to  a  distant  spot. 

Felicia's  inquiring  eyes  went  straight  to  Maris. 
The  latter  nodded  and  tried  to  smile.  "  Yes,  go. 
Get  quite  a  large  bunch,  darling." 

This  she  managed  to  say  with  some  appearance 
of  self-control,  but  the  moment  the  child's  back  was 
turned,  she  grasped  her  companion's  arm  and  whis- 
pered, fiercely:  "  My  secret!  What  do  you  mean  by 
thinking  I  have  a  secret?  " 

"  That  is  your  own  child,"  said  the  other  slowly, 
her  eyes  following  Felicia's  small,  erect  figure.  :'  I 
went  to  church  last  Sunday  just  to  see  you  two  to- 
gether. I  saw  your  eyes  as  you  looked  at  her.  God 
lets  only  mothers  look  like  that.  You  thought  her 
dead  or  lost  forever,  and  did  not  find  her  until  after 
your  second  marriage.  It  is  Mr.  Alden  who  has 
bound  you  to  secrecy  even  here,  among  your  own 
people." 

Maris  covered  her  face  and  rocked  to  and  fro. 
"  I  cannot  speak.  I  cannot  ease  my  heart  of  it," 


TWO  CALLERS  351 

she  moaned.  Afterward,  in  a  more  frightened  voice, 
her  eyes  again  on  the  elder  face,  she  asked:  "  Is 
what  you  are  saying  generally  believed  in  Orbury?  " 

"  No,  not  believed  at  all,  only  hinted  at;  and  I 
shall  make  it  my  business  to  see  that  the  hints  are 
stopped.  Your  old  friends  resent  your  secretiveness, 
my  dear,  and  that  is  only  natural.  They  do  not 
know  the  type  of  man  that  Mr.  Alden  is.  I  think  I 
do.  You  see  I  was  born  a  Northerner.  From  his 
point  of  view  he  is  perfectly  right  in  making  you 
keep  silence.  It  is  his  pride  that  does  it,  and  he 
cannot  realize,  being  a  man,  what  silence  may  be 
costing  you."  Suddenly,  with  one  of  her  quick, 
decisive  changes,  she  turned,  looked  hard  into  Maris7 
face,  and  asked,  almost  sharply:  "  Do  you  love 
your  husband?  " 

For  an  instant  Maris  stared  in  amazement,  then 
the  power,  the  sincerity,  the  concentrated  question- 
ing of  the  older  face  swept  away  all  artificial  pretence. 

"  I  adore  him!  I  adore  him!  "  cried  Maris  passion- 
ately. "  Even  with  my  child  restored,  there  are 
moments  when  I  could  tear  my  living  heart  out 
with  my  hands,  and  fling  it  toward  the  place  where 
he  is.  I  think  that  no  other  woman  ever  loved  as 
I  love  him! " 

"  Yes,  other  women  have  loved,"  said  old  M'is 
Weldon,  and  something  in  the  slow,  dry  words  made 
Maris  cry  out  with  the  recognition  of  a  grief  more 
terrible  than  her  own.  The  two  women  wept  silently 
together,  and  after  an  interval  the  old  one  sobbed: 
"  Thank  God  each  moment,  Maris,  that  he  still  lives. 
There  is  nothing  so  awful,  so  irrevocable  as  death. 
No  matter  what  wise  ones  say,  death  is  the  end  of 
joy  and  hope.  But,  hush,  —  you  must  be  brave,  — 
lift  your  head,  dear.  Here  comes  Felicia  with  my 
roses." 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-TWO 

ON   SUNSHINE   HILL 

WHATEVER  the  tactics  employed  by  Old  M'is  Wel- 
don,  it  is  certain  that  Maris'  status  in  the  community 
changed  from  that  hour.  People  called  again,  allowed 
themselves  to  be  pleasantly  entertained,  and  went 
away  saying  that,  after  all,  Maris  was  the  same 
impulsive,  kind  hearted  girl  that  she  had  always 
been,  and  that  her  previous  aloofness  had  been  due 
to  a  natural  embarrassment.  As  for  Felicia,  they  were 
now  content  to  take  her  for  what  she  seemed,  a  rescued 
mill-waif,  and  to  watch  with  genuine  sympathy  and 
appreciation  her  constant  development.  For  Felicia 
was  becoming  more  than  a  pretty  child.  Her  mind, 
kept  so  long  dormant  in  the  mill,  was  growing  like  a 
young  vine  and  sending  out,  on  every  side,  delicate 
tendrils  of  curiosity  and  of  interest.  Her  pride  and 
delight  in  her  own  capacity  for  learning  were  pathetic. 
Maris  saw  that  before  many  years  had  passed  she 
should  need  to  curb  an  incessant  craving  for  books. 
Fortunately  there  was  already  existent  a  counter- 
weight against  the  tendency  to  curl  up  in  a  corner 
and  read  fairy  tales,  and  this  was  in  the  little  girl's 
intense  love  of  nature.  Maris  kept  her  in  the  air  as 
much  as  possible,  and  fostered  tactfully  her  love  for 
outdoor  life. 

In  these  perfect  June  days  they  fell  into  the  way 
of  taking  long  country  walks  together  for  the  purpose 


ON  SUNSHINE  HILL  353 

of  bringing  back  wild  flowers.  Felicia  was  inde- 
fatigable in  searching  out  new  species,  and  these  she 
would  root  up,  conveying  them  tenderly  to  her  own 
small  wild  garden  to  which  a  corner  in  the  old  Brue 
yard  was  dedicated.  Maris  read  her  of  Wordsworth 
and  a  similar  nook  planted  by  him  and  Emmeline, 

"  Dear  spot,  which  we  have  watched  with  tender  heed, 

Bringing  thee  chosen  plants  and  blossoms  blown 
Among  the  distant  mountains,  flower  and  weed 

Which  thou  hast  taken  to  thee  as  thine  own 
Making  all  kindness  registered  and  known,  —  " 

It  was  a  wise  choice  of  Maris'  when  she  took  the  gentle 
singer  of  Grasmere  to  be  her  child's  guide  into  a 
world  of  poetry.  His  lines,  once  loved,  never  entirely 
disappear  from  the  texture  of  a  soul,  and  by  degrees 
the  child,  for  whom  all  forms  of  beauty  and  sweetness 
passed  naturally  into  a  life  where  Maris  was  the 
guiding  spirit,  began  to  think  of  Wordsworth  as  a 
dear  absent  friend  of  "  Lady,"  and,  afterward,  by 
slower  process,  to  merge  his  image  into  that  of  the 
white  haired  minister,  Dr.  Singleterry. 

Once  on  a  day  that  had  been  especially  clear  and 
beautiful,  she  came  in  to  Maris  late  in  the  afternoon, 
bringing  with  her  a  small  bunch  of  white  clove  pinks. 

"  Oh,  what  a  lot  of  darlings,  —  did  you  pick  them 
for  Lady?  "  asked  Maris  above  her  sewing.  She  was 
just  putting  the  finishing  touches  to  a  dainty  frock 
for  Felicia. 

"  No,"  answered  the  child,  showing  some  hesi- 
tation but  keeping  her  beautiful,  upraised  eyes 
unfalteringly  on  those  of  Maris,  "  I  want  you  to  go 
with  me  to  the  old  minister,  —  you  know  who  I 
mean,  —  in  the  churchyard.  I  picked  these  from  my 
garden  for  him.  I  remembered  what  you  said, — 


354  RED  HORSE  HILL 

that  first  day.  I  won't  be  skeered,  —  frightened  — 
now,  Lady." 

A  little  excursion  that  Maris  had  long  held  out  as 
the  object  of  some  special  occasion  was  one  to  a 
hill  at  some  distance  from  the  town.  Mr.  Brue  had 
taken  the  child  Maris  to  it  first  when  the  slopes  were 
covered  thickly  with  the  wild  dwarf  sunflower,  and  at 
the  beautiful  sight  Maris  had  cried  out  that  it  was 
"  Sunshine  Hill."  The  pretty  name  had  held  between 
herself  and  her  father  all  through  their  life  together. 
She  had  been  waiting  for  the  time  of  sunflower 
blossoming  that  she  might  take  her  own  child  there. 
Also  a  small  waterfall  plashed  and  gurgled  near. 
Felicia  had  never  seen  a  waterfall. 

A  day  was  finally  allotted.  Maris  hired,  in  advance, 
an  old-fashioned  top  buggy  drawn  by  a  horse  so 
gentle  that,  as  its  owner  declared,  "  Ole  Jeff  wouldn't 
run  away,  not  ef  he  came  up  from  behind  an'  shoved 
hisself!"  She  had  refused  the  services  of  a  driver. 
This  was  to  be  a  private  picnic,  she  told  Felicia,  just 
for  the  two. 

The  Misses  Timberlake  contributed  such  a  luncheon 
as  only  the  old  fashioned  housewife  can  prepare. 
Fried  chicken,  sandwiches  of  the  most  delicate  ham, 
small  stuffed  birds,  beaten  biscuit,  jams,  doughnuts, 
and  a  dozen  other  appetizing  fancies.  At  ten  the 
expedition  was  ready  to  start. 

Maris  had  just  lifted  the  reins  preparatory  to 
slapping  the  ancient  animal  upon  his  flanks  when  the 
postman,  coming  up  from  the  town,  halloed  and  waved 
a  white  missive  in  the  air.  In  the  excitement  of 
preparation  Maris  had  forgotten  that  this  was  one 
of  the  days  for  receiving  a  letter  from  Ruth,  and 
these,  it  scarcely  need  be  said,  came  as  regularly 
upon  the  appointed  day  as  if  they  had  been  weather 
bulletins.  Maris  waited,  smiling,  until  the  postman 


ON  SUNSHINE  HILL  355 

reached  her,  took  the  letter,  thanked  him,  and,  after 
a  glance  to  assure  herself  that  it  was  from  Ruth  indeed, 
tucked  it  into  her  belt  and  drove  away. 

During  the  dark  early  weeks  of  her  stay  in  Orbury 
these  letters  had  been,  to  Maris,  a  source  of  greatest 
help  and  strength.  Now,  in  the  brightening  outlook 
they  were  still  deeply  treasured.  Her  love  for  her 
husband's  sister  was  rooted  fast  hi  gratitude,  and 
Ruth's  knowledge  of  it  did  not  detract  from  her  own 
answering  affection.  The  two  women  wrote  almost 
exclusively  of  Felicia,  a  subject  of  which  Ruth,  no 
less  than  Maris,  seemed  never  to  tire.  Harvey  often 
sent  messages  and  suggestions  as  to  the  child's  physical 
well  being,  and  the  continued  care  of  her  injured  arm. 
Dwight's  name  was  not  mentioned,  although  in  such 
general  statements  as,  "  We  are  all  well  and  busy,  as 
usual,"  or  "  The  new  mill-overseer  is  doing  splendiolly. 
We  are  all  interested  in  mill  work,  now,"  Maris 
knew  that  it  was  meant  for  her  to  read  between  the 
lines  of  Dwight's  courageous  taking  up  of  immediate 
burdens. 

The  fact  that  these  letters  had  been  written  in  the 
house  where  Dwight  lived,  that  his  fingers  might 
possibly  have  touched  the  envelope  before  it  was 
sent  to  her,  brought  always  to  Maris  a  thrill,  followed 
by  one  of  those  short,  sharp  struggles  of  despair  that 
left  her  drained  for  a  while  alike  of  hope  and  of  vitality. 
The  letter  now  against  her  heart  seemed,  at  one 
moment  to  warm,  and,  an  instant  later,  to  chill 
it  into  ice.  Images  and  thoughts  of  her  husband 
would  not  vanish,  even  before  the  ever  changing 
beauty  of  the  scenes  around  her,  or  at  the  sound  of 
Felicia's  innocent  and  delighted  chatter.  Even  as 
the  mother  in  Maris  forced  herself  into  some  sort  of 
adequate  response  to  the  child's  questions,  the  suffer- 
ing wife  was  crying,  dumbly,  "  Oh,  for  one  sight  of 


356  RED  HORSE  HILL 

him,  —  a  touch  of  his  hand !  At  times  like  this  I 
would  give  heaven  and  earth  if  they  were  mine  to 
give,  —  I  would  barter  my  soul,  —  yes,  —  and  this 
child  beside  me,  —  just  for  another  hour  of  love  with 
him! "  She  knew  that  the  first  agony  of  the  mood 
would  slowly  fade.  In  the  meantime  she  sat  upright, 
guiding  the  horse  mechanically,  and  striving  hard 
to  listen  to  Felicia. 

The  country  was  at  the  very  height  of  summer 
beauty.  Tobacco  and  corn  stretched  out  in  lines  of 
light.  Felicia  was  excited  and  interested  to  learn 
that  the  long  rows  of  insignificant  green  vines  studded 
thickly  with  yellow  flowers,  were  peanuts,  and  that, 
in  the  autumn  one  could  dig  out  the  little  twisted 
nuts  like  roots.  Sumac,  iron-weed  and  golden-rod, 
the  latter  not  yet  in  bloom,  grew  lush  in  the  corners 
of  the  "  zigzag "  fences,  and  there  were  summer 
flowers  at  hand  that  made  Felicia  cry  aloud,  "  Can't 
we  stop,  —  just  one  minute?  See  that  big  bouquet  of 
growing  pink  flowers  over  there,  Lady?  "  or,  when 
they  were  passing  through  a  copse  on  the  crest  of  an 
incline  which  made  Maris  shudder  with  recollections 
of  gaunt  Red  Horse  Hill,  "  There  are  two  kinds  of 
flowers,  —  two  whole  kinds,  —  Lady :  —  that  we've 
never  sawed  —  seed  —  no,  seen  before,  —  can't  we 
get  just  those  two?  " 

But  for  once  Maris  proved  inexorable.  "  No, 
we  started  out  for  Sunshine  Hill,  and  we  must  not 
stop  until  we  reach  it,"  she  would  say,  with  a  smile 
that  took  away  all  sting  from  the  refusal. 

A  little  later  Maris  gave  a  start  and  leaned  forward. 
"  We  are  nearly  there,  Felicia.  When  we  pass  under 
that  bending  hickory  tree  it  will  be  the  first  hill  to 
the  left.  Now  shut  your  eyes  until  I  tell  you  to 
open  them,  and  whatever  you  do,  don't  peep !  " 

Felicia  obeyed,  pressing  her  hands  down  on  her 


ON  SUNSHINE  HILL  357 

lids  for  added  safety.  The  small  body  was  now 
perched  on  the  very  edge  of  the  buggy  seat;  Maris 
could  feel  how  the  child  shivered  with  excitement. 
By  this,  the  mother  had  won  through  her  dark  mood, 
and  could  think  of  the  coming  vision.  The  horse 
crept  with  irritating  deliberation  over  the  sandy  road, 
the  old  wheels  creaked  and  grated  as  Maris  turned 
quite  sharply  to  the  left,  then  the  buggy  came  to  a 
standstill,  and  Maris  said  "Look!" 

At  first  Felicia  could  only  gasp.  The  hill  ran  up  in 
a  tilted  sheet  of  gold  to  a  sky-line  that  was  blue  and 
tangible  as  a  wall  of  turquoise  stones.  The  flowers  so 
closely  set  that  each,  it  would  seem,  touched  finger 
tips  with  a  dozen  flaunting  neighbors,  wove  a  contin- 
uous tapestry  of  bloom.  Butterflies,  yellow  and  black 
like  huge  detached  blossoms,  danced  in  the  breeze 
above. 

As  Felicia  still  remained  silent  Maris  turned,  in 
some  apprehension,  to  look  at  her.  The  small  face 
was  pale  and  solemn. 

"  Didn't  I  teU  you  it  would  be  beautiful?  "  the 
mother  asked. 

"  Yes,"  murmured  Felicia.  "  But  when  you  show 
me  things  so  awful  beautiful  I  want  to  cry." 

"  No  tears  allowed  to-day,"  cried  Maris  gaily,  and 
laughed  to  cover  her  own  emotion.  "  Let  us  get 
out,  and  tie  old  slow-coach  to  a  sapling,  —  then  we 
can  go  in  swimming  in  a  sea  of  gold." 

At  first  Felicia  would  not  move  among  the  flowers 
for  fear  of  hurting  them,  but  when  Maris  was  half 
way  across  the  valley  the  child  plunged  in,  and  was 
soon  laughing  to  see  the  way  the  flower-waves  closed 
hi  behind  her. 

Maris  was  moving  steadily  toward  the  waterfall.' 
Suddenly  Felicia  stopped.  "What  is  that,  Lady? 
It  sounds  like  water  running." 


358  RED  HORSE  HILL 

"  It  is,"  said  Maris,  "  A  little  waterfall.  I  used  to 
call  it  Undine.  When  we  are  over  there  beside  it 
I  will  tell  you  the  story  of  Undine." 

"  But  who  could  bring  so  much  water  'way  out 
here?  "  asked  Felicia. 

Maris  only  smiled,  but  her  lips,  for  a  moment, 
quivered  with  something  that  was  not  altogether 
mirth.  Then  she  led  Felicia  over  the  brow  of  the  hill 
and  downward  by  a  path  she  knew  to  a  tiny  gorge 
held  in  by  gray  rocks  where  a  thin  fall  of  water  slid 
and  splashed,  then  spread  out  softly  into  an  oval 
pool. 

Felicia  was  again  speechless,  but  she  pressed  close 
to  Maris,  slipping  an  arm  about  her  waist.  Across  the 
pool  a  single  spray  of  blue  lobelia  stood,  the  vivid 
color  giving  it  a  curious  alertness.  It  seemed  to  be 
arrested  suddenly  in  flight,  poised  thus,  to  stare  at 
the  human  intruders.  Felicia  had  eyes  but  for  the 
falling  water.  "  It's  a  comin'  all  the  time,"  she  whis- 
pered. "  It's  a  comin'  and  a  comin',  —  and  yet  there 
is  not  any  machinery  near  it." 

With  a  sound  half  sob,  half  laugh,  Maris  sank  to  the 
warm  earth  bearing  the  child  with  her,  and  when  little 
hysterical  laughs  and  attacks  of  spasmodic  caressing 
allowed  her  to  speak,  she  tried  to  explain  to  Felicia 
the  origin  and  necessities  of  waterfalls.  When  the 
listener,  nodding  gravely,  said  that  she  understood, 
the  mother  passed  on  to  the  much  more  familiar 
ground  of  fairy  lore,  telling  of  water  nymphs  and 
naughty  pixies  that  live  in  streams  and  hide  under 
bridges  in  order  to  decoy  the  unwary;  and  finally 
entering  upon  the  legend  of  the  hapless  Undine.  This 
tale  had  always  been  specially  dear  to  Maris.  She 
gave  it  now  with  lingering  tenderness,  enjoying  her 
own  recital. 

Felicia  had  thrown  herself  downward,  and  placed 


ON  SUNSHINE  HILL  359 

her  head  in  her  mother's  lap.  As  she  talked  Maris 
twined,  incessantly,  her  nervous  fingers  in  the  child's 
soft  hair.  It  was  fine  and  silky  as  the  down  of  milk- 
weed. 

"  And  some  day,  darling,"  she  said  in  closing, 
"  If  things  don't  go  too  badly  with  us  perhaps  I  can 
take  you  to  Undine's  country,  to  that  far,  magic 
Rhine,  and  show  you  just  where  the  little  boat  was 
drifting  when  a  Rhine  fairy  reached  up  to  steal 
Bertha's  necklace." 

Felicia  said  nothing.  Her  breathing  was  that  of 
a  babe  asleep.  Maris,  bending  over,  saw  that  indeed 
she  slept.  For  a  long  tune  the  mother  brooded,  her 
eyes  fixed  on  the  face  of  the  child.  Warmth  and  life 
and  color  had  come  back  to  it.  The  little  injured 
arm  now  crossed  upon  the  sleeper's  breast  would 
never  be  entirely  free  from  a  memory  of  its  terrible 
accident,  but  the  disfigurement  would  not  be  very 
noticeable.  "  Long  gloves  will  hide  it  when  she 
goes  to  parties,"  thought  Maris,  mother  like. 

But  would  she  ever  go  to  parties?  And  what,  after 
all,  was  the  future  into  which  they  together,  she  and 
Felicia,  must  look? 

The  unhappy  thoughts,  held  for  a  while  at  bay, 
crept  out  again  from  shadows  of  the  silence,  and 
peeped  from  dark  edges  of  the  little  pool.  The  face 
of  Dwight  Alden  was  reflected  there.  His  eyes 
seemed  to  stare  mournfully  upon  her.  Maris  bit  her 
lip  hard.  She  could  not  stir  for  fear  of  waking  Felicia. 
Was  there  no  way  of  shattering  phantoms? 

She  recalled  suddenly  Ruth's  letter  at  her  belt. 
This  she  drew  out  carefully.  When  it  was  in  her  hand 
and  before  she  had  made  an  attempt  to  open  it,  a 
queer  thing  happened.  As  though  a  voice  had  spoken 
it  the  knowledge  came  to  her  that  there  would  be  news 
of  Martin.  Hitherto  she  had  been  successful  in  keep- 


360  RED  HORSE  HILL 

ing  him  from  her  mind,  and  this  sudden  onslaught 
of  memory,  so  to  speak,  fell  on  her  unawares,  like 
an  enemy  from  ambush.  Yet,  the  strange  pre- 
monition told  her,  it  was  not  to  be  bad  news.  For 
an  instant  the  yellow  hill  side,  the  rod  of  blue  lobelia 
and  the  oval  of  the  pool  whirled  in  the  air  about  her. 
She  dug  her  hands  hard  in  the  soil  to  keep  from 
swooning,  and  stared  down  fixedly  upon  Felicia,  — 
upon  Martin's  child.  Slowly  her  reason  came  back  to 
her,  and  she  now  took  out  a  hat  pin  and  began, 
noiselessly  to  slit  the  envelope.  To  take  out  the  letter 
cautiously  was  a  more  difficult  task.  She  saw  that  it 
was  a  short  one.  This  alone  was  unusual  and  be- 
tokened news.  No  writing  at  all  appeared  on  the 
outer  sheet.  Maris  was  forced,  for  a  moment,  to  lay  the 
letter  down.  She  bit  her  lips  in  annoyance  at  the  way 
her  hands  were  trembling. 

Upon  the  grass  the  folded  sheet  opened  as  if  of 
itself,  and  Maris,  staring,  half  terrified,  half  fasci- 
nated, read  the  opening  words,  —  "  The  man  Winch  is 
dead." 

She  tried  to  read  no  further,  but  shut  her  eyes 
tightly  and  prayed  for  strength.  She  felt  that  the  one 
thing  she  could  not  endure  would  be  to  have  Felicia 
wake  and  begin  to  question.  In  spite  of  her  agonized 
precautions  for  remaining  still  the  sensitive  child 
stirred,  moaned  once  or  twice,  and,  before  settling 
back  to  sleep  flung  out  her  left  arm  across  the  grass. 
By  a  coincidence  the  hand  fell,  palm  upward,  upon  the 
letter,  spreading  it  wide.  The  closing  lines  showed  in 
the  shadow,  and  Maris,  after  one  shuddering  glance, 
had  seen  the  name  "  Dwight."  It  was  a  message  from 
him,  doubtless,  —  and  Martin,  whose  foul  life  held 
them  apart,  was  dead. 

The  woman  sat  immovable  as  stone.  Even  her 
trembling  had  ceased.  The  yellow  blossoms  stood 


ON  SUNSHINE  HILL  361 

up  straight  and  tall  on  every  side.  The  sun  came  down 
in  a  fine  mist  of  gold.  From  out  of  the  thicket, 
beyond  the  pool,  a  thrush  called  softly,  —  once,  — 
and  then  again.  Far  off  his  wandering  mate  gave 
answer. 

Then  Maris  slowly  bent  her  head  and  let  her  eyes 
take  in  the  words,  "  Dwight  leaves  on  the  morning's 
train  for  you  and  for  —  Felicia." 


THE   END. 


The  Most  Lovable  Heroine  in  Modern  Fiction. 


TRUTH  DEXTER 


By  SIDNEY  McCALL 
Author  of  "  The  Breath  of  the  Gods  " 

New  Illustrated  Edition,  with  8  full-page  pictures  by  Alice 

Barber  Stephens  and  title-page  vignette  by 

Jessie  Willcox  Smith 

12mo.     Decorated  cloth,  $1.50 

A  novel  of  united  North  and  South  of  rare  power  and 
absorbing  interest.  It  is  but  fair  to  say  that  not  one  of 
the  novels  which  appeared  last  year  on  either  side  of  the 
Atlantic  (including  those  from  the  pen  of  the  most  gifted 
writers)  was  superior  to  this  in  artistic  quality,  dramatic 
power,  and  human  interest  combined.  We  do  not  hope  to 
see  it  surpassed,  even  if  equalled. — Philadelphia  Telegraph, 

Exceptionally  clever  and  brilliant,  it  has  what  are  rarely 
found  with  these  dazzling  qualities, —  delicacy  and  genuine 
sentiment. — Brooklyn  Times. 

A  fine,  sweet  and  strong  American  romance. — New  York 
World. 

I  don't  know  how  to  praise  it  enough.  I  can't  recall  any 
novel  which  has  interested  me  so  absorbingly  for  years. 
It  is  a  matchless  book  !  —  Louise  Chandler  Moulton. 

The  author  at  once  takes  place  among  the  foremost 
novelists  of  the  day.  — Boston  Transcript. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
254  WASHINGTON  STREET,  BOSTON 


The  work  of  a  genius.     A  story  thai  will  live  " 


THE  BREATH  OF 
THE  GODS 


By  SIDNEY  McCALL 
Author  of  "Truth  Dexter" 

12mo.  Cloth,  431  pages.  $1.50 


A  'great  American  novel,  if  not  the  American  novel.  — 
New  Orleans  Times  Democrat. 

A  novel  that  has  the  real  Japan  in  it  as  has  no  other 
novel  ever  written  in  the  English  tongue.  —  Philadelphia 
Press. 

An  absorbing  love  story  that  throws  unusual  light  upon 
the  inner  life  of  Japan.  —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 

A  powerful  story  with  vivid  descriptions  and  a  thrilling 
and  unexpected  climax.  —  Boston  Herald. 

Strikes  an  unusual  note  and  will  live  beyond  the 
passing  hour.  —  St.  Paul  Pioneer  Press. 

A  masterly  delineation  of  men  and  women  caught  in 
the  swift  current  of  events.  —  Baltimore  Sun. 

Yuki  is  a  charming  characterization,  dainty,  exquisite, 
flowerlike,  and  fascinating. —  Chicago  Journal. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS,  BOSTON 
At  all  Bookseller?1 


"  Sidney  McCalFs  "  New  Japanese  Romance 


THE  DRAGON  PAINTER 


By  MARY   McNEIL  FENOLLOSA 

(SIDNEY 


Author  of  "  Truth  Dexter,"  "  The  Breath  of  the  Gods,"  etc. 
Illustrated  by  Gertrude  McDaniel.     12mo.     Cloth,  $1.50 


Her  crowning  achievement.  — Newark  Advertiser. 

A  work  of  high  literary  art.  —  Independent,  New  York. 

The  sweet  and  modest  Ume-ko  is  a  charming  heroine. 

—  Baltimore  News. 

Represents  the  author's  ripest  and  most  artistic  work. 

—  Chicago  Daily  News. 

A  striking  picture  of  love's  power  of  mastery  over  a  wild 
and  hitherto  untamed  Oriental  nature.  —  Boston  Herald. 

As  a  passionate,  glowing  love  story  with  a  happy  ending 
"The  Dragon  Painter "  is  finely  satisfying. — Philadelphia 
Telegraph. 

It  bears  as  plainly  the  marks  of  its  author's  knowledge 
and  comprehension  of  Japanese  nature  and  sympathy 
with  Japanese  motives  and  ideals  as  does  the  work  of 
Lafcadio  Hearn.  —  New  York  Times. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &   CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
254  WASHINGTON  STREET,  BOSTON 


The  Book  President  Roosevelt  Recommends 


AUNT 
JAKE  OF  KENTUCKY 


By  ELIZA  CALVERT  HALL 

Illustrated  by  Beulah  Strong.     12mo.     Cloth.     $1.50 


Annt  Jane  is  perfectly  delightful.  —  The  Outlook,  New 
York. 

A  book  that  plays  on  the  heart  strings.  —  St.  Louis 
Post-Despatch. 

What  Mrs.  Gaskill  did  in  "  Cranford  "  this  author  does 
for  Kentucky.  —  Syracuse  Herald. 

A  prose  idyl.  Nothing  more  charming  has  appeared 
inrecent  fiction. —MARGARET  E.  SANGSTER. 

These  pages  have  in  them  much  of  the  stuff  that  makes 
genuine  literature.  —  Louisville  Courier  Journal. 

Where  so  many  have  made  caricatures  of  old-time 
country  folk,  Eliza  Calvert  Hall  has  caught  at  once  the 
real  charm,  the  real  spirit,  the  real  people,  and  the  real 
joy  of  living  which  was  theirs.  —  New  York  Times. 

Have  you  read  that  charming  little  book  written  by  one 
of  your  clever  Kentucky  women  —  "  Aunt  Jane  of  Ken- 
tucky"—  by  Eliza  Calvert  Hall?  It  is  very  wholesome 
and  attractive.  Be  sure  that  you  read  it.  —  PRESIDENT 
THEODORE  ROOSEVELT. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &    CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
254  WASHINGTON  STREET,  BOSTON 


UC  SOUTHERN  HEC 


A     000137270     5 


